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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

































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/ NTRiMj Photographer. 







c -fllice oN alio Well . 



>efmenof . . 


— OR— 


(Sjunsfyin^ in (affliction. 


A Story from taife. 


^LICE ^BLLOWELL. 


%\ 

I ‘''DEC 11 <393 I 

vA'-V 


Gibson Bros. 
Washington, D. C. 
1893. 



Copyright, 1893, by Alice Hallowell 



To my kind friends 

Mrs. Adlai Stevenson , and Miss Leila Herbert , 
Mrs. Leland Stanford , and Mrs. George Hearst , 
Dr. John B. Read , and Rev. Frederick C. Cowper , 
This little volume is earnestly 


Inscribed. 














AUTHOR’S PREFACE. 


My Friends, — for such I hope you are to 
be, — I ask your kindly reading of this little 
volume. 

It does not claim perfection ; nor any high 
degree of literary merit. Is but a simple 
picture from the Book of Life — natural and 
unconventional. It was written with an ach- 
ing heart, and the hope of helping some of 
God’s dear children. Yet, all the while, I 
had no thought of giving to the world my 
name. But now the day has come when I, 
too, need a helping hand sometimes ; and 
sympathizing friends have urged the little 
book to go in print, and also bear my name. 

Some one has said, u Real authorship is 
born of pain.” If this be true, I ought, in 
deed, to be a writer wonderful. 

Through affliction, I have learned to feel 
it is a blessed thing to know how we should 


6 


FORGETMENOT. 


suffer. If we learn the lesson faithfully, 
God loves us tenderly, and teaches us to serve 
Him well in happy, hallowed ways. 

My prayer is, that my kindling soul may 
meet response in yours. 

And being told to “ Seek and ye shall 
find,” my dear friends, I am seeking. 

SONG OF THE BOOK. 

Pray take me as a new-born child, 

With form and feature soft and mild; 

Who ne’er has trod Life’s dusty way, 

Nor felt the sun’s relentless ray. 

Thus sorely needs thy tender love, 

As guardian angel from above, 

While journeying along the way 
To find the Everlasting Day. 

Yet all the while, unto the throng 
That hastens hourly along, 

Would still outpour the simple pray’r, 

“ The Lord, our God, is everywhere.” 


PROEM 

bV 

Fred : C. Cowper. 


THE IMPRISONED MUSE. 

I know a spirit pure and fair 
That’s bound in prison-house of clay, 
That oft would wing her flight away 
Into the free unfettered air. 

Ambitious for the heavenward flight, 

She oft is wearied of her chains 
That rack her tender flesh with pains, 
To try her faith’s enduring might. 

But, as the captive bird will sing 
Its sweetest in the iron cage, 

So this fair spirit’s thoughts engage 
In noblest flights on drooping wing. 

Her body bends, her bosom heaves, 

Her brain with aching anguish throbs ; 
No pain that valiant spirit robs 
The strength her dauntless soul receives. 

She passes bravely on her road 
With Genius closely at her side, 

Who woos the Muse to be his bride 
And lead her to his high abode. 


8 


FORGETMENOT. 


And so she sings her cheery song, 

And fleshly anguish quite forgets, 
And lays aside earth’s blighting frets 
To dwell the golden stars among. 

Oh ! mystery of courage good ! 

That gives the spirit wondrous power 
To rise above the darkest hour, 

And conquer each vicissitude ! 


Dedicated to my little friend, 
Alice Hallowell. 


^orgcfjitenof 


>unsl\ine in Affliction. 


Once on a time, when long ago 
The flow’ring plants began to blow, 
Each one unto the Father came 
To claim its own peculiar name. 

There were a host of fairy sprites,— 

The reds and yellows, pinks and whites ; 
At last a little blue-eyed one 
Approached the Father’s throne alone, 

And, looking in His loving face 
With tender earnestness and grace, 

Cried out, “ Dear Lord, am I forgot ? ” 
And heard Him say, “ Forget-me-not. 1 ’ 


“What is the Little One thinking about? 
Very wonderful things, no doubt,” 

quoted a young man’s musical voice as he 
appeared before the doorway of a square vine- 
clad piazza, and awakened from reverie a 
little blue-eyed maiden, attended only by the 
books and flowers about her. 

“Oh, Carly ! you frightened me,” she 
sighed in looking up. 


10 


FORGETMENOT. 


The voice was soft and low, as if coming 
from dreamland. 

So the young man thought, as he pressed 
the small white hand extended to meet his own. 

With easy grace and a sigh of pleasure, he 
slipped into a corner of the bench beside her, 
and threw back his head against the tall white 
pillar that was grown and overgrown with 
climbing, eager vines. 

“ Won’t you have a chair?” 

u O, no ; I like this little corner best.” 

Then adding with a smile : 

“ This weary head desires to rest 
Upon this green vine’s tender breast, 

like the youth who cried, 1 Excelsior !’ ” And 
had she looked into his eyes, she might, per- 
haps, have read, u I like to rest my thoughts 
in gazing thus on thee.” 

But she did not, and only answered in her 
poetic, dreamy way, “ Well, if you. like it so, 
there you may stay, 

And yet I had not meant to spare 
For you my own dear little chair.” 

“ No,” he replied again in tender tones, 
“ that little chair is made to fit the little owner, 
and I would not take it for the world. 


FORGETMENOT. 


II 


“And,” leaning forward to caress her, 
adding, “ not only that, I will not let you go 
away. I mean to keep you there — just there 
in front of me, and charm you as the homely 
snake charmeth the little bird. 

“Now do you understand?” using his hand 
with the words. 

“Just lean your head back so, and do not 
ruin those long, soft, silky curls.” 

And going on complacently, “ Those blue 
ribbons tying it, and that white lacy dress, 
just suit my fancy, Blue-eyes. 

‘ ‘And this little porch is a perfect bower. I 
think it must have been made for you — made 
on purpose for you. Even here over the steps 
you see the vines are really too jealous to leave 
a door for the visitor. 

“And so I scared you ?” he went on. “And 
how was that, I pray? You surely have not 
grown afraid of me ?” And with a touch of 
pathos, he resumed : 

“ If you but knew how sadly I’d been miss- 
ing you for three long days, you would not be 
afraid when now I come.” 

“ I’m not afraid of you, and I am glad you 
came,” she answered quickly, with a troubled 


12 


FORGETMENOT. 


look. ‘ ‘ But you were so quiet — don’t you see ? 
I did not hear you — not the slightest sound.” 

“Ah, that indeed?” he went on teasingly. 
“ But don’t you know that snakes are always 
sly? And this great serpent was so wise, he 
left his horse away off by the trees, and came 
thus gliding up to see what you were doing. 
But,” (dropping his voice again,) “he did 
not really think the little bird would be so 
startled. Nay, I did not think you would be 
frightened when I came.” 

“O! Carly, don’t — please don’t,” mur- 
mured the soft, low voice. “ I am not fright- 
ened, and I’m not afraid. I’ve no bright 
feathers, and I cannot sing. I wish I could 
— I only wish I could,” fell like a wail of de- 
spair upon the silent air. 

“ Ah, but you have something better than 
bright plumes,” he answered, tenderly. “And 
your childish voice is better, too, and sweeter 
than the song of any bird — unless it be the 
bird of paradise,” he added, softly. “ I 
know not what its song can be. But some- 
thing strangely beautiful, I’m sure.” 

She looked up, smiled, and said in yearn- 
ing dreaminess : 


FORGETMENOT. 


*3 


44 ’Tis your kind heart, my cousin. No one 
thinks these things but you. And that don’t 
make them so. You only think them ; that 
is all.” 

And the low tones died away once more, 
and eyes of blue were looking up in earnest- 
ness to God. 

“Come, Little Maid, cheer up,” he said; 
4 4 what is it makes you so ? I love to see 
you, but I want to hear you, too. Shut out 
that dreamy look, and tell me with your eyes 
and voice what is it makes you sad — and pen- 
sive. And why is it you want to sing like 
some bright bird ? Hop toward the charmer, 
let me hear your merry laugh. What are 
all these letters ; and what does all this desk 
mean ; and what are all these books upon the 
bench beside you? Now, come, I say; hop 
toward me, Little Bird ; hop toward the 
charmer, and be swallowed up.” 

Alise aroused, and straightened herself, 
then passed her hand over her eyes as if to 
dispel the cloud that hovered there ; and with 
a faint, sweet little smile replied, 44 Carly, you 
must forgive my rudeness, but I have had sad 
thoughts through all the day. This letter is 


H 


FORGETMENOT. 


from Mrs. Lemar£, and they are all still suf- 
fering. People talk of the Sunny South ; 
but this does not look like it. This is only 
cloud and heartache. Oh, why must it be?” 
she went on, half to herself, and half to him. 
“ Yes, they have been suffering — not only 
for plain comforts, but for bread to feed their 
hungry mouths. 

“And here I am so weak and useless, it is 
no wonder I reproach myself. 

“ Why can’t I help them ; why can’t I do 
something for them ? ” she added fervently. 
“ Yes ; if only I had the voice of a bird, I’d 
throw my little song until it reached them far 
away ; and maybe it might cheer their hearts, 
if nothing more. And Mrs. Lemare is so 
good — so patient. The whole family are so 
good, and bear it all so bravely. Oh, Carly ! 
it seems as if I’m worse than useless, that I 
cannot help them. What am I for, if I can- 
not help God’s needy people? I wonder 
what I’m for? You have studied law, and 
soon will begin to practise. Why can’t you 
turn your bright mind on this subject, and 
show me how to practise something useful 
for these people ? Do ! Here is the letter ; 


FORGETMENOT. 15 

read and see for yourself, and then you will 
know why I am sad. I cannot put away 
this pain. I must do something for them ! ” 
And again there was a wail of earnestness 
as the words fell from her lips. 

The young man’s face was grave and 
thoughtful now, as he drew closer and bent 
over and pressed a kiss upon the fair, white 
brow, partially covered with its loosely fall- 
ing curls. 

11 Precious Little Soul,” he murmured, 
“ I would help you if I could ! Your heart 
is always full of some good work for some 
one. Your soul is a fortune in itself, and 
will live to bear rich fruits.” As he spoke, 
he took the letter from her hand, then of- 
fered to return it, saying, “ Won’t you read 
it to me ? ” 

“ Oh, no; don’t ask me, please — I can’t; 
I have read it till my heart is sore from ach- 
ing, and my eyes from crying. You see it is 
all stained with tears. Read it aloud, 
though, if you like ; I can bear to listen.” 

And thus he read : 


1 6 FORGETMENOT. 

Dear Little Friend : 

Yours of the 23d of last month, I will at 
last try to answer. Child ! I cannot begin 
to tell you the half of what prevented my do- 
ing so before. And now I am sitting by 
one of the little sick folk. His fever has 
gone off, and as he naps I write. It will be 
in a rambling style ; but I feel so much the 
kindness of heart that induced you to take 
such trouble for us, that I am uneasy until I 
tell you how acceptable it all was. 

Carrie, providentially, was detained until 
the arrival of the chest. We had a grand 
time in unpacking the contents. 

Amid the babel I could hear: “This is 
mine,” “ This fits me” And Will, standing 
a little way off with me, just kept up a con- 
tinued laugh. 

Aline was dressed in everything that she 
could lay her hands upon ; while Bertha 
quietly appropriated the warm plaid dress — 
donned it, and a perfect fit it was. 

Carrie kept piling and discussing the hat 
shop, as she called it. 

May and Connie, by armfuls, took off their 
dresses, which, strange to say, fit without any 
stitches taken. 

Bartlett was found in tears at the window — 
and until he knew that he had a remembrance 
also, could not be comforted. 

Bertha gracefully gave up the “ Princess’ 


FORGETMENOT. 1 7 

to Kate, and found a nice suit of something 
else. 

Will ran off to his room with his parcel, 
which he has been so busily digesting as to 
prevent as yet acknowledging. However, at 
the end of each quarter he is busy making 
out returns, and we have had a trying time 
of it for the past three months. It is all over 
now ; but even yet, if Carrie knew I told 
you, it would vex her. 

We have been kept out of our office pay — 
Jennings’ pay — and we positively suffered — 
sometimes for meal after meal waiting on the 
Lord in earnest prayer— and at last there 
would be a sale of some little thing in the 
office that would give us a few cents, which 
would buy a scant meal of something for the 
ten of us ! Do you wonder, dear, that I have 
not the heart to write ? 

No one outside of our house knew any- 
thing of our straits. 

And now, that it is over, I look back and 
see what brave hearts the children have. 
Many nights a little one would creep up and 
whisper, “Ma, I’m so hungry.” And I 
would gather them for evening worship, and 
tell them, “ Let us go to bed, and by early 
morning we will get up, and something will 
be ready for us to cook for breakfast.” And 
the little trusting things would obey. 

But, oh ! the ache in my heart — for where 


1 8 FORGETMENOT. 

would the breakfast come from ? But some- 
thing always came at the extremity . God 
was very merciful to us. But it was an ex- 
perience which has left an indelible impression 
upon us — it has aged me — I am feeble at 
times — and the gray hairs have thickened on 
my tempjes. 

The gift of new calico I gave to Carrie, as 
she needed such on leaving home. 

She went to C . My brother is pro- 

fessor in the Theological Seminary at that 
place (he being a divine, rich in brains, but 
with little else, and none to spare for me and 
mine). 

He has a married daughter with a little 
family ; who, being very fond of Carrie, has 
asked her to come and teach them, and be a 
companion to her. And she is able to give 
her three or four dollars a month, together 
with her travelling expenses. Carrie at last 
decided to go. She will remain for several 
months, till the cheap excursions reduce the 
fare ; then will return home and Aline take 
her place. So if she does not write you soon, 
you will know it is because her time is paid 
for, not her own. 

The little children keep her very busy. 
The family she taught in here have moved to 
their plantation, and a perfect panic prevails 
in the village. 

A case of diphtheria appeared, and the at- 


FORGETMENOT. 


19 


tending physician advised all to move who 
could. We could not ; and I am full of con- 
cern at every cold taken. But I do believe 
our cross is poverty. And it is so much 
lighter to bear than that poor rich Mrs. C.’s, 
who has lost two children with diphtheria, 
and now has a third one ill. 

I cannot tell all about the things you sent, 
in this ; as it grows dusk, and Bartlett is rest- 
less — requiring much waiting on. But we 
are all so thankful for the things. I have 
sold some already to the negroes, and found 
this, too, ever so much help. There’s not 
one thread but that I’ll find some use for. 

The brown worsted (your little dress) fits 
May nicely ; and with a neat apron makes a 
good school-dress. The balmoral goes to her 
also. 

Carrie fixed one of the hats to travel in ; 
and Katie has found the plaid most accept- 
able this very cool weather. 

Carrie writes me she has no material to 
work with, or could do her shell-work at 
night . She, too, has a severe cold since leav- 
ing home. I miss her terribly — she looks 
after everything, and is always busy putting 
everything in its place. Now that I am nec- 
essarily out so much, teaching, I need her 
more than ever. 

The other girls are good, but Carrie has a 
peculiar gift, and so much wise tact, that she 
is a great loss to us all. 


20 


FORGETMENOT. 


My machine has at last failed * — refuses to 
do any more work ; just, too, when we have 
been so fortunate as to get a lot of work from 
a store-woman out in the country. So we 
are at a loss what to do. I have written to 
the nearest cities about exchanging it, and 
sought to know their terms ; but can get no 
answer. Neither have I a dollar as yet to 
pay in the exchange. 

But I must stop. I do not believe you can 
decipher this ; but you know I can do better. 

With love and gratitude to my little unseen 
friend — seen only in spirit, but many times 
that way — I pray that God may bless her for 
her goodness unto me and mine, and for her 
other works. 

Sincerely and earnestly your friend, 

Constance M. Lemare. 

N. B. — Baby Connie talks about her “ ittle 
egg-horn ” hat, and sometimes ’tis u leg-hor- 
net.” It is very becoming to her, and I often 
wonder that if in it she looks at all like you. 
She too has the heaven-blue eyes and golden 
hair, and is fair of face. Of course we think 
her pretty — her mother thinks her baby beau- 
tiful. And you, too, child, are pretty; you 
can’t be otherwise ; I feel it, anyhow*. And 
as for your tiny form, it fills me with much 
wonder. That I measure by your little 
clothes, fitting, as they do, my youngest ones. 
And, I marvel at your heart and soul, all 


FORGETMENOT. 


21 


clothed in righteousness ! Once more, fare- 
well, and write me when you can. Your let- 
ters are most truly welcome.” 

At the conclusion of the letter the brave 
youth did not speak for a few moments. His 
own eyes now were filled with tears, which 
he might well be proud of. For they spoke of 
tenderness, that beautiful adorning trait which 
sweetens the life of every character it dwells 
within, or hovers near. 

Well does Miss Mulock speak of this soul- 
giving trait ; truly does she say, ’tis too rarely 
found in life — even in the life of woman. 
And yet there is no perfect character until 
softened and beautified by tenderness. It seems 
like a twin-sister to the Angel of Sympathy. 

Yes, his eyes now were filled with tears ; 
he too was thinking. At last he spoke : 

u Alise, you have already done much for 
these good people. Look at that whole chest 
of clothing that they write of ; look at the 
warmth and comfort in it all. See, they 
speak of dresses, and of hats. How many 
were there in the lot?” 

“ Thirty dresses, and two cloven hats, I 
think,” 


22 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ Thirty dresses, and two dozen hats ! ” he 
said with emphasis. “ Where did you get 
them all ? ” 

“Well, some I had, and some were given 
me by kindly friends. And some,” sheadded, 
looking up, “you know who gave — three suits 
of clothing, and some new material.” 

“Me, do you mean?” he said. “If I 
did help you any, I am glad. I’m such a 
selfish mortal, ’tis rarely that I think of any 
one, I fear. But, see again — the work you 
have been selling for this dear young lady — 
how many dollars worth in all ? ” 

“Seventy, I believe,” she said. “But I 
wish it had been seventy times seventy.” 

“Well, all I have to say is, Alise, never re- 
proach yourself again. And, my advice is, 
take your pen and write. I have told you this 
before. And now since you ask my advice 
to help your cause, and in this pleading way, 
I do insist upon it. You need not say you 
can’t — no you can’t deny it now. You have 
talent, and I have known it for a long time, 
and now you must begin to use it. The 
only pity is, no one has had the fruit of it be- 
fore. But I predict, it will be well for many 


FORGETMENOT. 


2 3 


people, now that these same sufferers have 
brought it into light. That more than one 
family wilblive to praise your work. Write 
a story fresh from life — a little romance, full 
of sweet realities, melting with pathos, and 
gilded here and there with sunshine. And 
now and then put in one of your sparkling 
gems — that little mother-wit, which drops so 
curtly from your tongue. Now, think of it 
but little ; just drive off your timidity and 
hasten to your work.” 

“ I can’t, indeed I can’t ! ” she cried in low 
and startled tone. 

“Can’t what?” he asked. 

“ Oh ! Carly, I can’t write a romance. You 
know full well that I could never, never do 
it. I would not know where or how to be- 
gin, or how to end. You know I could not 
do it. But, I do wish I could, because I love 
to read them.” 

“ Yes, you love to read them, but you 
think you cannot write. Well, maybe so ; 
you are such a truthful little Sage, you can- 
not even fancy that you told a story — not 
even a story in blank verse ” he added, smil- 
ing in mischievousness. “You can make 


H 


FORGETMENOT. 


romances in peoples’ hearts, however, but you 
think you cannot write them. This does not 
seem compatible to me ; nor, do I see what 
you would bid me see.” And again he 
stooped and kissed her. 4 4 There is one thing, 
however, that you can, and must do. And I 
am not going to give it up until I see this 
long desire of my heart fulfilled. I have 
seen too many of your charming letters, and 
know too well how they used to brighten my 
college days, to give up the field this time. 
Write a sketch from real life, and you may 
have Truth shining at every turn. You will 
find a publisher, not only willing, but glad to 
buy it ; and many admiring hearts eager to 
read. And not only that, I predict you will 
soon awaken sympathy in others — who, though 
strangers to you, will open their pockets and 
their hands, and help you to help your flock. 
For you have now become a little Shepherdess. 
So take courage, Little One, and remember 
dear Miss Cunningham ; how she wrote while 
lying on her back, and appealed to the great 
heart of the wide spreading nation. And, how 
the gifted Everett harkened to her voice, and 
responded to her call. Don’t you know how 


FORGETMENOT. 


2 5 


he went forth and lectured to our people un- 
til he c.oined some $80,000? ” 

44 Yes, Carly, I know. He showed that 
he was a great man by listening to her voice. 
It is the great who stoop to the lowly. I do 
not believe a small man can. Do you ?” 

44 No, Child, I don’t. But there is some- 
thing else that we must note. See that pale 
sufferer lying in her bed, and what a mighty 
soul she had ! How chastened, and how 
pure ! Ay, she was quite as great as he. 
And so full of patriotism ! Indeed, it is 
beautiful to think upon, and to realize, that 
the stately home of our great Washington 
was thus preserved and honored through the 
efforts of this fragile instrument. And, is now 
resting in its silent grandeur, while the river, 
that never ceasing stream, rolls on and on for 
aye! It is aptly called 4 Mount Vernon.’ 
Alise, we must go there some time — go to- 
gether and enjoy the place again. I never 
tire of it, and go when e’er I have the chance. 
And I always call to mind your words : 4 It 
seems as if there was no other place on earth. 
All the busy, noisy world seems so far off. 
I feel there is no other place. This is the 
chosen spot of God — a perfect solitude,’ ” 


26 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ Did I say that? ” 

“ Yes, you said it, and I never visit there 
without your words returning to me. They 
are my thoughts as well, although I borrowed 
them from you. So, really we must go 
again.” 

“Yes, and we must look for the picture of 
Miss Cunningham. What is her full name? 
They surely have it there ? ” 

“ I do not know. They ought to.” 

“ Carly, is she living?” 

1 1 1 cannot tell you that either, nor do I 
know where her home has been. I would 
like to know much of her. And so would 
you.” 

“Indeed I would,” she said. “And I 
would dearly love to see her. You know I 
wish for every one of whom I read. If I 
like the people, I long to see them. Carly, I 
think sometimes it is a pity that I have not 
wings, so I could fly all over the earth. 
Then, don’t you see, I could soar above all 
that was homely and tarnished with sin, and 
drink in all of the beauties and joys of earth ! 
Oh ! how lovely it would be ! ” And she 
gave a happy sigh. 


FORGETMENOT. 


27 


He had been watching her, and now he 
said, as he too drew a sigh of happiness, “ If 
I were an artist I would paint you at this 
moment. Yes, I would paint you, with your 
childish face and form ; your long light hair ; 
your spotless brow ; sweet, earnest eyes ; and 
above all, the wonderful soul indwelling 
there, and shining through the eyes ! 

“Yes,” he went on presently, “ you will 
write a sketch from life, giving the history of 
these same people ; telling how they lost their 
all in the cruel war ; how they have tried, and 
helped themselves ; struggled with sickness, 
with anxiety, and with adversity of every 
kind. And, how they have had to battle with 
the ‘ wolf,’ to keep him from their door — and 
at times to even drive him from the house, 
where he had really entered, bent on bear- 
ing off some little lamb. Put this letter in 
your sketch. Its spirit will speak even louder 
than its words. Tell what you have done for 
them ; tell what you still want to do. Write 
as though you were writing to a friend, and 
the public will be your friend. Be sure and 
tell that you have never seen them, not a 
single one of the entire family — have only 


28 


FORGETMENOT. 


known them by their letters. And, if I could 
add a foot-note, I would say, you can read 
character, and learn more through letters, 
than any person I have ever seen. 

“ Open this desk, and get out some of those 
little original axioms, so sinfully stowed away 
out of sight. You know what Mr. Falkner 
said of them. You know what the Belt 
publishers said ; and you know too — at least 
I do — what Judge Harlan said of that fine es- 
say. And still you keep your mind all locked 
up here among these vines and trees, and 
hide the little blossom where it can’t be found. 
Alise, you must no longer keep your 4 light ’ 
beneath this 1 bushel.’ Little Sage — no, since 
your wisdom has bloomed out, I’ll call you 
Little Sage-Blossom — you must go to work. 
I say that you must go to work. You need 
not shake your head that way, and look down 
on those little crutches. I see them too, and 
know that every one who does, loves to help 
you all the more. Far from being a draw- 
back, your affliction is like a magnetic cur- 
rent that always attracts and never repels. 
Your sweet, helpless life is lovelier than the 
liyes of those who can walk alone, Yes ? 


FORGETMENOT. 


29 


your affliction is the telegraph that reaches 
people’s souls, and goes right to their hearts. 
It ever attracts, and never once repels. See 
what a simile I’ve made? I am delighted 
with it. Always attracts and never repels — 
that is a happy thought. 

“ Yes,” he said, returning to the theme, 
‘‘now, in the morning, bright and early, 
promise me, you will begin. And after you 
have told it all as I have sketched the head- 
ings, write on and on, until your pen says, 
‘ I must stop.’ Then finish off with one of 
your exquisite little poems. No, you need 
not shake your head again, for they are in- 
deed exquisite. Didn’t I read and re-read 
those you sent to me? And don’t I remem- 
ber well the day at Harvard, that Hanway 
asked what I could be so busy with ? And 
when, at last, I showed them to him, how 
that he insisted upon keeping them ? And 
don’t I remember with what pride I listened 
to the words of our Professor Charles, when 
I took Hanway’s advice and showed them to 
him? ‘My young friend,’ he exclaimed, 

‘ those two lines alone in this child’s verse 
would sound well in the best poem that was 
ever written.’ 


30 


FORGETMENOT. 


“Yes, my Little Sage-Blossom, you must 
begin to write, and I will undertake the pub- 
lishing. And if you want a post, a tree, or 
knotty rail on which to trail one of your 
mental vines, I’m your obedient servant — use 
me at your own sweet will.” 

As he finished speaking, this young hero 
with bright intellect and tender heart threw 
down the pencil and leaned forward to caress 
the lips again. But they turned away and 
smiled. So he caught the hand and sang out 
playfully, 

. “ You’re smiling, and that’s a good sign, love; 
Say ‘ yes,’ and you’ll never repent ; 

Or, if you would rather keep silent, 

Your silence I’ll take for consent.” 

‘ 4 But I feel very much hurt, Little Lass, that 
you turn your head away when your brother 
goes to kiss you. Don’t you see my injured 
air?” 

“Yes, but I must tell you something,” she 
replied. “You see, I am not your sister. I 
will soon be a grown-up lady now, and, 
if you keep on kissing me you might want 
some day to kiss some other one, and then 
you would seem forward, and the girls would 
never like you.” 


FORGETMENOT. 


3 1 


“ Well, Little Pussy, you are logical, I must 
confess. But I must plead my case, and also 
plead my innocence. In the first place, you 
are my relative by birth (even though you call 
it far-off ‘cousin’). You can’t destroy the 
tie ; the knot is there. In the second place, 
you are my own wee sister, because I have 
adopted you. I am your brother, because you 
have no other.” And with a smile he added : 
“ I mean to see you don't have ! And, as for 
myself, I want no other. You are not ‘ grown 
up,’ and are not going to be. You are always 
to be the same sweet child that you are to-day, 
and woe be unto any one who dares, or even 
tries, to make you otherwise ! The very 
thought of it kindles my hot blood ! Yes,” 
he went on happily, “you are always to be 
the same sweet child — in your looks and in 
your manners — though your mind will grow 
and flourish until it becomes a wonderful Tree. 
And this same Tree will bear fine fruit to feed 
the multitude — fruit, that not only the rich 
who live at ease will discover and partake of, 
but the tired, hungry wayfarers will stop and 
pluck it as they go. And, as they eat, will 
bless — send back a blessing to the tender, lov- 


FORGETMENOT. 


3 2 

ing, bounteous giver. Child, I feel this ear- 
nestly ! And last, but not least, since you 
must have it all, there is no danger, not the 
least, that I will ever press, or even want to 
take the sweets from any other lips than 
these. All ladies, all true women, I admire ; 
I think they are the sweetest flowers of the 
earth. But that is all. I do Aot rudely go 
to pluck them. They are much better as they 
grow. So, Little Miss, I like your prudence ; 
but, in turn, you need not fear of being mor- 
tified. I try to know my place as gentleman ; 
and while I have that guard you surely need 
not fear for me. And too, remember, there 
is no temptation. I see,” looking in her 
face, “ no other lips so sweet as these — nor 
will I ever see !” 

His eyes spoke with his words, and though 
she looked up and then smiled, she shook her 
head most doubtfully, and answered with her 
merry laugh : 

“ Oh, yes, Milord, you will some day — I 
know you will, I know you will !” And 
again she sang out merrily, with mischief in 
her tone : 


FORGETMENOT . 


33 


“You must not talk that way to me, 

Just wait a while and we will see ; 

Just wait a tiny little while, 

And we will see what we will see. 

“ Who was it you were talking to 
Upon that sunny day? 

I guess it must have been sweet ‘ Maud ’ 
While she was ‘ raking hay * ! 

“ But woe! because the ‘Judge ’ is nigh 
And keeps a watch on her; 

He’ll catch you in your cunning tricks 
If you a finger stir! ” 

“ Goodness !” she cried, “ I thought I wasn’t 
going to get a word to rhyme with ‘ her,’ but 
I found it ; don’t you see? I like that ‘ stir.’ 
You’d better look out for the ‘Judge.’ When 
the ‘ rod ’ gives out he has in soak, then he’ll 
take up his ‘ Bar !’ He sits on it. No, no ; 
not that either. He sits on the Bench at the 
Bar — like this bench you are sitting on. Now 
don’t you see? Quick; sharpen my pencil, 
Carly ; I have another thought. Make haste ! 
it will be gone in just one minute — the tide is 
flowing out !” And in the midst of glee she 
snatched the pencil once again. 

“Ah,” he said, with mock gravity, “I 


34 


FORGETMENOT. 


thought this could scarcely be an improvisa- 
tor. At least I was afraid those little water- 
spouts would wash me entirely away. And 
you, too, Songster. But stay, what is this 
last? Isn’t it done yet? Let me have it. 
Will there be anything of me left, think ? Ah ! 
now we have it. Give it to me ! I must have 
it in my hand so as to get the full force of the 
blow.” 

But holding the paper, she went on : 

“ And when once caught, he’ll carry you 
Way up a dismal stair; 

Like Blue-beard with his many wives, 

He’ll take you by the hair. 

“ Or else, he’ll lift his thomas-hawk, 

(For Thomas is his name), 

And ‘ hawk’ the bird with which he hunts 
When seeking for his game. 

“ Now do not grow as pale as death 
When thinking of this Dove; 

You know the adage dropped from old 
‘All things are fair in love !’ 

“ And if you will her plumage touch 
You’ll have your own plucked too; 

Now, Owlet, with your wisdom deep, 

Cry out, ‘ To whoo ! to whoo ! 


FORGETMENOT. 


35 


“ Am I indebted for this theme?’ 

I answer, ‘ ’Tis not I.’ 

I only sit upon this height 
And all your movements spy.” 

u I got dreadfully anxious again about who 
was going to keep company with that 4 too.’ 
My ! it was hard work ; but it’s in now, and 
don’t you take it out, sir.” 

44 But wait, Alise ; you’ll break the charm 
directly. Let me read the rest. I want to 
see if there’s a spark left of me ; or, if I’m put 
into the grave alive. Hurry up ; I thought 
you were done. How many slips of paper 
do you keep going ? Now we have it ” 
(reading as she wrote). 

“ If trace is left of ‘ sparking ’ youth, 

Now ‘ charmer,’ do you ask? 

Nay, sir, you must not hasten me 
Before I’ve done my task. 

“ One word of warning let me give 
To trespasser from town : 

You must not touch ‘ forbidden fruit,’ 

Nor, pull the grape-vine down. 

“ Although so sweet whilst hanging there 
Upon the parent vine, 

The grape might quickly sour grow 
If thou shouldst pluck for thine. 


36 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ The essence that so oft we like 
In daily things we meet, 

Sometimes is metamorphosed quick, 

And turns to ‘ Bitter-Sweet .’ 

“ And so I say, beware the ‘rake,’ 

Nor angle near yon sire; 

I’ve heard of fish transported quick 
From ‘ frying-pan to fire ’ ( ?) 

“ For stern’s the ‘ Judge ’ upon the bench, 

With ‘ Bar ’ of steal ( ?) to rail ( ?) 

If this in ‘ love-tap ’ lit on thee, 

Mine Hero, thou wouldst quail. 

“ But see! here is the olive branch, 

Brought by the same white Dove ; 

So, after all, perhaps it’s true, 

‘All things are fair in love.’” 

“ Well, Little Muse, I was going to be 
cross — what there was left of me. But you’ve 
sweetened it so at the last, I can’t. Show me 
a good place and I’ll bury the 4 thomas-hawk.’ 
Here, I guess this spot is safe.” 

And with a gentle sleight of hand he lifted 
her chin and put a brother’s seal upon her 
lips. 

“There, Poetess, is your pay. Whoever 
that mythical damsel is, she is not here to-day. 
You shake your head, but ’tis too late. I 


FORGETMENOT. 


37 


only take my rights. I thought I could bring 
that ringing laugh. Now, shall we go to the 
trees? See, our little rustic bench is waiting, 
and no ‘ Judge ’ on it either,” he added in a 
lower tone. “ How beautiful it is out there 
beyond the lawn. The air as mild as summer, 
and yet the trees are growing gorgeous in 
their coloring. In but a little while that 
avenue will be a sight to see. Even now the 
lights and shades are beautiful. Shall I carry 
you, or the chair?” he added fondly, “the 
books, the bench, or the whole porch ? Any- 
thing, just say the word.” 

“ I think if somebody isn’t careful he will 
get ‘booked’ with a bad mark. That’s what 
I think.” 

“ Very well, My Lady, any mark is bettei; 
than no mark at all. I am equal to anything, 
great or small.” 

And so saying, he lifted her quickly but 
gently in his arms and ran the whole length 
of the lawn. 

“ Oh, Carly, you are too bad*, you must 
think I cannot walk?” 

“And neither can you, when in my arms,” 
quoth he. “ Bear in mind you are my pris- 


FORGETMENOT. 


38 

oner. These trees are the castle, and this 
rustic bench is your cell,” seating her gently 
upon it. “ Now, move not a finger till I re- 
turn. Where,” he called back, “ shall I get 
a crowbar to dislodge the porch ? and where 
a wheelbarrow to ride it on ? and a carriage 
for the baby-chair?” 

And as he ran he was followed by the 
mirthful voice calling — 

u Just bring the books and desk, upon the 
chair, and you can be the carriage. No, 
never mind the desk. Open it, and get those 
letters lying there, and put in the one you 
had — that’s all — but don’t forget the books.” 

In a moment he was back, looking as sober 
as the Judge in question, while peering at the 
title-page of volume number one. 

“‘Moral Philosophy.’ Whew! You are 
not going to read a word of this while I am 
here. So it lays upon this limb, here out of 
all harm’s way.” 

“ Methinks it in harm’s way, if it be at all 
near you,” she laughed. 

“My! that hurts! The Bird has com- 
menced to peck.” And, throwing himself on 
the grass, he continued : “ Now, Little Bird, 


FORGETMENOT. 39 

hop over this way. Keep your eye on the 
charmer! What! no hops?” 

“ Oh, yes !” she cried, “lots over in the 
garden. Don’t you see behind the pales? 
And the pole, I guess, is charming, that they 
climb upon ; or, will be if somebody gets it 
after you !” 

“ My ! the Bird is pecking more. I give it 
up.” 

“And while you are giving it up, let’s have 
those letters, please.” 

“ Certainly ; I beg your pardon. I thought 
you wanted me to mail them all. Here they 
are. May I read the names?” taking them 
out of his pocket. “Yes,” he continued, 
after her nodded assent, “ I expected to see 
4 Mrs. Lemare.’ You ought to be named 
4 Alise the Faithful.’ But see here, who is 
this 4 Bertram Hawthorne ?’ Where is he 
from ? And what is he doing in town, may 
I ask?” 

“ Well, he’s my friend ; and his aunt used 
to teach me ; and he is architecting in town, 
if you must know it all. He builds 4 castles 
in the air,’ and all of that, you know. Maybe 
so, anyhow. Do you not think his name is 
pretty ?” 


4 o 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ Oh ! yes ; pretty enough, but dangerous, 
so dangerous for a young man. Do the 
thorns ever tear, I wonder ? Is the bush very 
prickly, too?” 

“ No, not to me ; it only has sweet flowers 
for me ; and oh ! I love them so ; but I can’t 
say for you. I guess you’d better not inquire 
further.” 

And here another silvery peal stirred and 
rustled the quiet leaves, which, joined by his 
deeper mirth, startled the busy squirrels home 
without their nuts. But, not till they had 
peered about in knowing way, and waved 
with native grace their plumy tails. 

“Alise, may I see this letter?” he inquired, 
pointing to the third one to be mailed. 

“Although a little jealous of this fellow, 
still I do not envy him the pleasure that I know 
is here. Yes ; I am envious, I suppose. But 
I mean, I would not rob him of the privilege. 
That is what I should say, perhaps.” 

“ Should?” she echoed sadly, “ and are you 
not sincere? You do not think that I could 
write him any harm? Do tell me, please?” 
she pleaded. 

“Harm, Child? No; there’s no harm in 


FORGETMENOT. 


4 1 


you. Why do you put that question ? ’Twould 
be impossible. Your little heart and soul are 
the home of only Good. And he who has a 
chance to drink from such a fountain, surely 
is well blessed. I hope he feels it so.” 

In deferential silence he was lost awhile in 
gleaning the contents of the closely written 
page — closely written and in delicate char- 
acters, resembling in many ways the fragile 
author. Then, replacing in its envelope, he 
said : 

“ No, it cannot hurt him ; and, he must be 
a strange, hard fellow if it does not do him 
good. But see here, that reminds me that 
I’ve something for you in my pocket. I came 
by the village- way, and brought your mail.” 

“ Why, Carlis ! and you’ve kept it all this 
time ?” 

“ Yes; but you’ll forgive me, I dare say. 
I have not injured it, nor did I spirit it away. 
I did not even glance upon the names. A 
letter and a paper. May I do* so, now?” 

But she had taken them, and scarcely were 
they in her outstretched hand when a smile of 
pleasure lit her face, and she softly said, as 
though in speaking to herself : 


42 


FORGETMENOT. 


44 I thought SO.” 

44 You 4 thought so,’ eh? And let me see 
if I did, too,” he echoed. 

But on glancing as she held the letter to- 
ward him, a frown seemed suddenly to cloud 
his brow — a threatening frown. ’Twas only 
for a moment. Then he smiled, although his 
voice was somewhat husky and rang a trifle 
sharper than it was wont to ring, while he 
forced the smile, and said : 

44 Alise, does he write much to you? Does 
Han way often write ? What right has he to 
write at all?” he added. 44 I expect I’ll yet 
regret the day I introduced him to you !” 

He was biting his lip with these last words, 
as if to hold the voice that seemed to tremble 
and grow again a little sharp. And he turned 
his head away as if to hide a shade of pallor 
that some emotion had aroused — perhaps of 
anger. 

Noting the change of voice, Alise looked 
up and quickly said : 

44 Oh, Carlyle! are you ill? And does 
your poor head ache again ? I fear you never 
will be well— real well of that dreadful hurt.” 

Gently, but firmly, he took the hand that 


FORGETMENOT. 


43 


was softly smoothing his brow, and throwing 
himself back on the grass till his head was 
resting on the bench beside her, and still hold- 
ing the small white hand a prisoner, he looked 
searchingly in her face and said : 

44 Little Sister, are you going to desert me 
for this old fellow — this runaway, this sailor- 
boy, who has picked up a little law, 4 like 
pigeon’s peas’ ? Are you going to desert me 
for this fellow out among the ruffians in 
the Western wilds? Tell me, Alise, are you 
going to desert me for this Western fellow ?” 
And still more earnestly he added, with a sort 
of desperation, 44 Why must you have so many 
friends? Why must you, Child?” 

44 Carly,” she said, in tones of pained sur- 
prise, 44 how can you speak so of your friend ? 
You know he is not 4 old ; ’ you know he is 
not 4 rough ’ ; and, he’s not a 4 Western fellow.’ 
I wish you would not call him so — it hurts. 
No, I know he is not old ; you said he was 
but little older than yourself. And, as to 
being 4 rough,’ how can you speak so of him ? 
You know so well that he is gentle — a real 
true gentleman — else you had never brought 
him to me. A 4 gentleman,’ and 4 honora- 


44 


FORGETMENOT. 


ble,’ you told me both of these, and I can 
well see for myself that he is good . And to 
think, that you could speak so of him, after 
all that you have told me in his praise — your 
friend, and mine,” she went on plaintively. 

With a strange mixture of humility and 
baffled pain, he looked again into her eyes and 
said : 

44 If I am sorry, will you forgive? But tell 
me, first, what does he write about? May I 
see his letter? 

44 No, no,” she answered sadly, 44 you can- 
not. ’Tis not intended for you. But I don’t 
mind telling you of what he writes. He tells 
me of the wondrous western country, almost 
to the calm Pacific ; of his work and pleas- 
ures ; of his boat upon the river. And he has 
said, if I would trust myself on board, the 
little sailing craft would do her best to show 
the honor, and furnish silvery spray for the 
prow — I thinly that’s how he wrote it — and 
he said, too, that he always minds the helm. 
Would I trust myself on board?” she echoed 
softly, smiling. 44 If, I only could!” 

44 Well, and is that all?” 

44 Oh, no, that is not half. He tells me of 


FORGETMENOT. 


45 


the game he shoots — the beautiful wild ducks 
and geese, and wishes he could send me some. 
And of the sweet wild roses that fringe along 
the riv£r’s bank. And last time he said, 4 he 
had plucked one for me, but it was too ripe, 
and fell to pieces.’ ” 

4 ‘And is that all? ” 

44 Oh, no, not nearly all. Then he tells 
me of the law that he is practising, and how 
hard he had to study when he entered at the 
bar ; and how he had to work over his first 
case. But of course he won,” she added tri- 
umphantly. “I knew he would, and told 
him I was glad. Then he tells me of the 
strange people that come and go — the emi- 
grants. The other day he described a car 
load, and among them was 4 a maid of sweet 
sixteen ’ ; and when she heard some person 
speak of manners, she exclaimed, 4 Manners ! 
what’s them? We don’t want none of them 
out here !’ He sees these funny things, but 
he does not like the people, and will not 
mingle with them — only with a few. He is 
so proud. But he has found a few friends ; 
you know he finds some everywhere, and 
plenty who are glad to be his friends. And, 


FORGETMENOT. 


46 

he often talks about his home, and those 
whom he holds dear. He longs to see them 
all, and is so lonely. It makes me feel so 
sorry for him. Why does he keep himself a 
prisoner away out there? I told him, lately, 
that he ought to go and see his mother ; he 
loves her tenderly, and loves his father too. 
What a good son and brother he must be. 
Yes,” she went on musingly, “ his letters 
are all beautiful, and full of strength beside. 
He teaches me to think.” 

“And, does he ever speak of — love?” was 
cautiously inquired. 

“Hush, Carly, hush! Don’t talk to me 
that way. You know I never think of such 
a thing. You must not put such thoughts 
into my head.” 

“ May I see his letter?” (pointing to it). 
“ I did not mean to ask again, but maybe 
there’s a message here for me.” 

“No, no; I have not read it all myself, 
and if there is a message, I will keep it safe 
until you come again. You ought not to ask 
me to betray a confidence ; it is not right.” 

And so saying, she slipped the letter in her 
pocket, and again the blue eyes spoke out 
with the voice, repeating : 


FORGETMENOT. 47 

“ Carlyle, you ought not to want me to 
betray a confidence.” 

Then, adding anxiety to earnestness, she 
said : 

“ Is your head better now? I am not rub- 
bing it ; and you hurt my hand.” 

Relaxing his hold, and tossing his head, to 
throw the hair back from his brow, he smiled 
and said : 

“ What a creature I am, Alise ; you must 
forgive me — try and forgive me for every- 
thing ! I’m a rough fellow, although I do 
not mean to be. I’ve hurt your hand, and 
hurt your feelings too ; and God knows, I 
would not wantonly do either ! Child,” he 
added, u the cares of life have commenced to 
press upon me, and I have come to have you 
lighten them, and to cheer my way with some 
of your bright sunshine. And, to give you, in 
return, the little pleasure that I can. But 
here I am, tortured and tormented with a 
vague foreboding, and casting this trouble 
back on you. I did not mean to do so. I 
have not meant to be unkind to you. Child, 
forgive ! and promise, too, that you will al- 
ways love me — love your brother, and no one 


4 8 


FORGETMENOT. 


else beside. Promise this, my Little Sweet 
heart-Sister, and I will not do so any more. 
But I must have this. Promise — give me 
your word. There seems to be a little fire 
burning within me, and, if you do not soothe 
it somehow, I know not what it may do.” 

His words had sunk to melancholy, and the 
fire was burning on his cheek. 

She was awed and silenced by his fervency, 
and looked up, wondering what he meant. 
She did not understand his utmost meaning. 
A part of what he said, she did not compre- 
hend, but the pain of his pleading tone sunk 
to her heart, and she answered feelingly : 

“ Forgive? Oh, Brother, you know that I 
forgive, and love you. I have nothing to for- 
give ; you’ve never meant to do me any harm, 
and have not. What brings you this remorse ? 
You know I love you, and I always will. 
The other part you must not ask ; you should 
not put such thoughts into my head. I do 
not understand to hear you talk this way. So 
please don’t any more. It hurts me. And it 
hurts me that you talk about your friend.” 

“ Little One,” he answered, now very gen- 
tly taking her hand, “ I give you my solemn 


FORGETMENOT. 


49 


word I will not do so more. I am rude and 
rough, but I will try to grow more gentle — 
more fitted for the love that you have given 
me, and which I still must have. And humbly 
do I say, as I lie here on the grass, that you 
and these tall trees shall all bear witness that 
I will not wound you any more, nor speak 
unkindly of my friend — our friend, if he’s 
bound to be yours too. No, I will not speak 
unkindly of him, for Hanway is a splendid 
fellow. He is now a man , and I believe will 
live to be ‘a man among men ’ — a shining 
light, a living ornament to our grand profes- 
sion ! Does that please you, or must I still 
add more ? I say, again, he is a noble fellow ; 
he could not stoop to do a menial thing ; and, 
added to all this, has the rare gift of intellect. 
He will surely make his mark some day. 
Then,” adding more lightly, with a laugh, 
“ you will have good cause to be proud, fair 
Dreamer — proud of your chosen friend ! I 
trust he may appreciate the friendship that you 
give, and which I seem tempted to begrudge 
your giving. Read your letter in peace when 
I am gone, and give my love to the old fellow. 
(That is not disrespect, but a term of affec- 


50 


FORGETMENOT. 


tion this time.) Yes, give him my love, and 
tell him not to forget the good old days at 
Harvard, and how we fought and battled 
with those time-worn books. Bless me ! I 
can see it now. Law, law, by day and night ! 
And how we did fight to pull through at the 
last ! I knew he would win, and even get the 
4 scholarship ;’ but was anxious about my own. 
But, dear me ! I got the parchment, notwith- 
standing my 4 cracked head * ! I was sure that 
hurt would cast me overboard. But you see, 
Hanway helped to save me. He used to come 
all the time I was sick, and keep my spirits 
up. I was forever sure my chances were 
gone ; but he, good fellow, was forever say- 
ing, 4 Be of good cheer, my boy, ship-a-hoy ! 
you’ll pull through — just as sure as a die !’ 
And then he would keep me posted as to what 
they were doing while I was gone. Yes, and 
tell him, too,” he went on, 44 not to forget our 
Club. Just say 4 Best Club’ to him, and 
he’ll know what you mean.” 

4 4 Best !” she interrupted. 4 4 Why did they 
call it so ? Because it excelled all others ?” 

44 Well, no; not that exactly, although we 
thought it was quite excellent. It was named 


FORGETMENOT. 


5 1 


in honor of Judge Best, and therefore he paid 
us much attention. He is a splendid old 
gentleman. You should see him, Alise. 
Your admiration for great men would be 
pleased. And he is such a polished gentle- 
man withal. His manners are superb.” 

“Are they any finer than Mr. Hanway’s, 
Carly ?” 

“No, perhaps not; only the difference in 
age. Why do you ask?” 

“ Because his are so beautiful. Brother, I 
shall never forget that night — the first night 
that I met him. Yes, and the only night. 
But I’ve seen him so often since on paper and 
in spirit, it does not seem the only one. I 
sometimes feel as if I had known him all my 
life ! And just to think, I only saw him once. 
But I can never forget,” she repeated ab- 
sently. “And after all, Carly, I scarcely 
know his face. I hardly think I’d know him 
if he came to-day. I’m almost sure I would 
not.” 

“And why, Little Stranger?” 

“ Because I could not look into his face. I 
only heard him talk and saw his ways. And 
the light was dim beside. It was a moon- 


52 


FORGETMENOT. 


light night, but he sat in the shadow on the 
steps — the top step, I remember. And my 
little chair was near by, in the light. And I 
kept wishing we could change our places, or 
that I could be in the shade. For every time 
he spoke he looked right at me in his defer- 
ential way, and still I could not look at him ; 
my eyes would fall. I don’t know what it 
was that made them so, but the lids would 
droop like little curtains over them. At last 
I spoke of moving, and said the moon was 
very bright. And he replied, ‘ Why, do you 
not like the moon?’ I said, ‘ Oh, yes ; I love 
it; but I do not like to have it shine on me.’ 
‘ Oh, that is all,’ he answered ; 4 but don’t you 
know it beautifies ? It sheds a silver light on 
all it touches. Pray do not move !’ So, after 
that, I said no more about it, and we talked 
of something one of us had read about the 
moonlight bringing out a person’s face — the 
expression on the face, I mean. And then we 
talked of books and poetry ; and I loaned him 
my 4 Hyperion.’ He said he had never read 
it, and would like to ; so, of course, I told 
him he could have my copy. People are so 
good in lending books tome, and giving, too, 


FORGETMENOT. 


53 


that I am glad when I have one to lend. 
There surely is no harm. Do you think there 
is?” she asked in pausing. 

“No, truly, I think not,” he laughed. 
“But Miss Mulock says, ‘Young ladies must 
beware of lending poems ’ — poems to gentle- 
men, you know.” 

“ Oh, but this was not a poem,” she went 
on. “And there’s no harm anyhow. The 
idea ! ” 

“No, not a poem in one sense, not in 
verse — but in every other, in reality, it is. 
“Yes,” he pursued, “’tisthe deepest, grandest 
poem I have ever read. Dear old Long- 
fellow — though he was young then — has 
therein moved the heart and soul of every 
reader. The story of his joy and pain is well 
called ‘ Hyperion ’ ! No, Alise, I’m not quite 
sure it is a safe book for you to be lending 
here and there. Be careful, Child.” 

“I’ve only loaned it to one other,” she 
said simply, in reply, and added artlessly, “ I 
do not even understand the warning. 

“The book is sweet, and tender, and sub- 
lime. O ! how beautiful ! When I was 
reading, sometimes I cried, it was so sgd. 


54 


FORGETMENOT. 


Then, again, his humor was exquisite, and I 
laughed till I was almost sick. 

“ But, at the last, I was all lost in sadness, 
and could not rest till I had found his life, 
and learned his fate. No wonder the book 
was his master-piece ; his treasure ever after- 
ward — at least I’m sure it was — for it helped 
to win his Prize ! 

“ But, Carlis,” she went on, U I am told 
there are other books by this same name. I 
want to read them all. The Doctor wrote 
me there were two or three.” 

“ The Doctor? Who is he? ” 

“ Oh, one of my poet-friends. Haven’t you 
heard of Dr. Shoemaker, who wrote the 
words of that sweet song called ‘Sweet-heart,’ 
and some one stole them since ? Well, he has 
read, and knows everything. And he says — 
I remember his very words — ‘ Other works 
have been named Hyperion beside this of 
Longfellow’s. Keats left a grand fragment, 
“the great proportion of which,” says Shelley, 
“is surely in the very highest style of poetry 
this was entitled Hyperion, the subject, 
Saturn and the Titans.’ Then, again, he says 
(see, I have his letter in my hand ; no wonder 


FORGETMENOT. 


55 


I can remember it so well) — here, he says 
again, ‘A prose romance called “Hyperion, 
or the Hermit of Greece,” was written by the 
German poet Friedrich Holderlin. It is in 
the form of letters.’ ” 

“Is that all? ” Carlyle here enquired. 
“Yes, all of that particular part,” putting 
it back in the envelope. 

“And does he send them for you to read?” 
“No, I only wish he would.” 

“Have patience, Child, and wait till your 
brother gets into practice, then you shall 
have them both. And what was that other 
book you wanted so ? Emerson’s Essays ? ” 
“Oh, yes, Emerson’s Essays, I would love 
to have that book — even just to read it. I 
had a glimpse of it once, and saw what he 
said of 4 the sunlight shining into children’s 
hearts.’ I know it shines in mine. And, 
Carly, I must show you, some day, the book 
of Poems that was sent to me, with some- 
thing pretty written on the leaf. This reminds 
me of it.” 

“ Why, did he send it? ” 

14 No, no,” she smiled ; “I do not know who 
sent it. That is the funny part — the mystery. 


56 


KOliGETMENOT. 


But it was lovely and kind in some one, and a 
sweet surprise to me. But I was going to tell 
you something else about those Essays. They 
filled me so with wonder. In another place 
I read where that great writer talks of ‘ Soli- 
tude.’ He says, ‘If you would be alone, 
you must sit under the stars.’ These may 
not be the very words, but the meaning that 
they left with me. And oh, I understand it. 
I have sat under the stars at night-time, and 
watched them twinkle as they came out one 
by one, to look down on the earth, until my 
soul seemed lifted up to meet them ! I often 
sit alone upon the grass, and throw my head 
back, and forget — forget all the world about 
me ; and only live up in the stars. Carly, did 
you ever read ‘ The child’s dream of the Star’ ? 
It is the only thing that I much admire of 
Dickens’ — except that beautiful song about the 
‘ wild, wild waves.’ But the ‘ Child’s dream’ 
is so beautiful. ‘And still the star was 
shining,’” she repeated absently. “The 
writer’s thoughts were sweet the day he wrote 
that dream. I know he is witty and bright — 
people like him — scholars joy in him — but he 
tires me. Thackeray is my choice. He 


FORGETMENOT. 


57 


doesn’t tell so much about the little dark door, 
the green trowsers, and the yellow necktie ; 
but he tells about the things within , and that 
is what I want to know. 

“But, Brother, when you want something 
sweet and beautiful, come back to my ‘ Hype- 
rion.’ The writer’s heart and soul are in it. 
And you know real authorship is said to come 
through pain. I am sure that this is so. Just 
think how many years Longfellow labored. 
He wrote that book in 1839. At least it was 
published that year in New York. The Doc- 
tor also tells me this. You have no idea what a 
learned man he is. I wonder that his head 
can hold it all ! He is a bachelor, and reads 
and writes up in his sky-parlor. But he suf- 
fers with his eyes, poor man ! Yet still he 
keeps on writing. I often see his pieces when 
in print. 

Yes, Carly,” she continued cheerily, re- 
turning to the subject, “I’ll tell Mr. Han- 
way all you say, and I know he will be glad 
to hear from you. Is that all I must say?” 

“ Hanway? Are we back to him again? 
Yes, you may tell him more. Tell him not 
to forget what a raging trial we had in that 


5 § 


FORGETMENOT. 


moot court. Y ou know I sent you the printed 
notice of it.” 

“Yes, you sent the paper, but it was lost 
in coming, and I have always been so sorry,” 
she responded. 

“Well, tell him, Little One, not to forget 
what .a roaring time we had. Why, he was 
the pleader, and he nearly raised the roof. 
He grew so full and earnest with his theme 
that he really thought it was reality. And 
every one was spell-bound while he spoke, 
and when at last it was all over, there was a 
perfect thunder of applause.” 

“And how did he bear the praise?” 

“ Oh, like he bears everything ; no osten- 
tation, and no vanity. We called him Web- 
ster for a long time afterward. And finally 
he was ‘Daniel.’ And when we wanted a 
strong fellow on a side in other courts and 
cases, or debates, we would say, ‘ Put Daniel 
in the lions’ den ; he’ll keep them all at bay. 
If he refused, we just said, ‘ Come on, Dan’l ; 
come, old boy?’ And when he smiled, we 
knew that he was won. Alise, I must bring 
you the picture of our class. Would you 
like to see it? ” 


FORGETMENOT. 


59 

‘ indeed I would !” she answered heartily. 
“And be sure you don’t forget? ” 

“No, I won’t forget, if you promise not 
to cast me overboard for this Hero you have 
placed so high.” 

“Of. course you know I won’t,” she 
answered back, and asked again, “And do 
you think it wrong for me to be writing to 
him ? It does seem strange I should be doing 
it, when I’d only seen him once — I mean as 
people speak of seeing. But I’ve seen him 
many, many times, with my mental and 
my spirit-eyes. And, Carly, you know I 
live by faith ? Our outward eyes are not 
much after all. Do you think so? ” 

“To me they are much,” he answered, 
“for I have not attained your height. But I 
can see the excellence of Faith; and the 
beauty of the life it makes. And I commend 
you in it, even though I cannot reach the 
Mount myself.” 

“ But, Carlyle, do you really think” (she 
still spoke askingly, and with an anxious 
look) “that it is wrong for me to be still 
writing to your friend? To my friend, I 
should say, as well. Because he is my friend, 


6o 


FORGETMENOT. 


and I do value him so much. But, if you think 
it wrong — and I should see that it was so — 
that I could do him any harm — why, I should 
stop. Do you think I can? ” she added with 
a troubled look. 

“Can what?” he said, fixing his gaze 
upon her. “‘Do harm,’ or ‘stop?’ which 
do you mean ? Blue-Eyes, don’t ask me that 
again. You know full well my answer still. 
You cannot do him any harm, my little con- 
scientious Queen. It is impossible. Whether 
he does you any harm, is the real question. 
And I hardly think he does. It is not in me 
to accuse him of it. Do you think he does ? 
I ask the question.” 

“No, no!” she answered quickly, “I 
know that he does not. He does me only 
good — so much of good ! ” 

“Now, let me ask again,” he went on, 
“could you stop ? ” 

“Oh, yes, of course I could.” 

“And, would you like to?” 

“No, I do not think that I would like to. 
But I know I could ” 

“And, would he like you to? Does he 


FORGETMENOT. 


6 1 


wish to hear from you ? ” he went on asking, 
and still looking straight into her eyes. 

“I think he likes to hear from me,” she 
answered very softly, with the slightest color 
coming in her cheek. “He says he does, 
and I believe he tells the truth. And from 
the way he writes, I think that he would miss 
me did I go away. Carlyle, do you think,” — 
she looked up askingly, again, with wonder 
in her eyes, — “that to liken a person’s letters 
to the ‘ dews of heaven ’ is a compliment ? ” 

“Why, bless you, Daisy! does he liken 
them to that? If that’s the case, I will not 
ask you any more if he likes to hear from 
you. But, how much you like him, I fear 
I’ll never know. Would you miss him much ?” 

“Miss him? I would miss him sadly.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I want him always to be my 
friend.” 

“ Is that all?” 

“ Yes, that’s all I know,” she said. “ He 
is brave and strong ; and I want him for my 
friend.” 

And again he asked, “ Is that all? ” 

“All I know,” she said again — then add- 


62 


FORGETMENOT. 


ing, as if to herself alone, “ Friend is a beau- 
tiful word; and Friendship sounds so pleas- 
ant. I like to think of it. I hope the Sea of 
Life will always bear my brave good Ship ! 
And, Carly,” she added sweetly, laying her 
hand on his, you are on it always ! It has so 
many of my good, kind friends — I hope it 
will always safely sail, and never strike a 
rock ! ” 

Then she was silent ; and directly spoke 
again, as if to finish something on her mind. 

“ Have you any more to say, of writing to 
our friend ? I want you to show me the right 
and wrong in everything. You know when 
he returned ‘ Hyperion,’ he wrote me the 
first time. And his letter was so gallant. It 
was the prettiest I had ever had from any 
gentleman.” 

“ Indeed?” he answered, meaningly. 

“ O, I don’t mean you. I mean from any 
who was not my cousin. Don’t you under- 
stand?” she added, striking him with the 
great oak leaf she was using for a fan. 

“ Oh, yes, I understand; and I have no 
more to say. I put no obstruction in the 
way, and am even generous enough to tell 


FORGETMENOT. 


63 


you to go on writing to your Hero-friend. 
Hanway has had much to bear in life ; and 
even now is far removed from all his friends 
and dear associations. He deserves all the 
pleasure you can give ; and I know your let- 
ters do him good. So, go on writing; and 
as long as I am with you, I ought to be con- 
tent. Since you don’t think me a selfish 
mortal, I must try hard not to be. Your way 
of exalting people is a good one. Not only 
by precept do you teach ; but the contrast is 
so strong, that we lower mortals feel the dif- 
ference, and try to rise up higher from very 
shame.” 

As usual, she was not elated, nor did she 
even seem to hear the words of praise. And, 
when obliged to hear them, there was always 
a yearning in her eyes, and the voice would 
say, “ Oh ! I would like to be what you so 
kindly think of me.” And her humility was 
sweet. 

Rising from the grass where he was still 
reclining, he sat upright, and began to toy 
with her hair. 

“You must not lean back and crush these 
curls,” he said. “Throw them over the 


6 4 


FORGETMENOT. 


chair-back, so. Now see ! you have done the 
same thing over. So soon as I draw them 
out and get them nicely arranged, you move 
your head and draw them back, just to be 
crushed again. Oh, you’re reading your 
paper now, and don’t want to be bothered ? 
But,” he went on, still talking, “ I persist in 
guarding these curls.” 

“ Curls,” she said, looking round with a 
smile, “you know that my hair doesn’t curl ?” 

“Pray what, then, does it do?” 

“ It only waves a little, that is all.” 

“ Well, waves of the sea, then ! It waves, 
and I see!” he added with a laugh. “And 
not only that, it looks as if it would fall into 
curls at any moment. I expect it would if 
you let it. What do you do to give it this 
graceful form, anyway?” still running it 
through his hand. 

“Why, nothing, of course; it does as it 
chooses. In the morning I comb it, and tie 
on the ribbons ; and after that, we part com- 
pany — it goes its way, and I go mine,”* she 
added playfully. And, turning round once 
more, she said, “ Now stop, the subject is 
all worn out ; don’t you see the threads ? 


FORGETMENOT. 


65 


Here — here is one of them right straight be- 
fore you ! ” And she drew a ravelling from 
the ruffle of her dress, and began to wind it 
around his fingers, saying as she did so, 
“These fingers get in mischief, so they’ll 
have to be tied down. Now there ! poor 
fingers ! they can never move again.” And 
she lifted the offending hand, and gently laid 
it on his knee. 

“And, would you bind your captive thus?” 
he cried with tragic air. “Ah! one hand 
is yet free, and with it I have found a silken 
cord, and (lowering his voice), ‘whisper it 
not in Gath,’ this shining hair was on my 
tell-tale coat. ’Tis my turn now, fair cap- 
tive ; harken what I say ? Lend me thine 
ear, and worst of all — nay, better still, give 
me thine hand — fair and fragile as it is (ay, 
ay, the other too,) now both I take, and bind 
them with this golden thread. See ! now it 
is a curl l” 

And holding them in one hand, while 
drawing her toward him with the other, he 
laughingly pursued : 

“ I must make a note of this for future 
use, right on these blooming two lips.” 


66 


FORGETMENOT. 


But when nearly there, her smiling lips 
replied, “Oh no,” and she dropped her 
head, so the kiss lit on her brow. 

“ Ah ! ” he went on gravely, “ 4 There’s 
many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.’ 

But mind ye that the temple brow 
Is what I sought for anyhow. 

And there the impress is to stay, 

Thou ne’er shalt wipe its trace away,” 

(still holding her hands in one of his.) 
“ Here at last we’ve found ‘ The Beauty 
and the Beast.’” And illustrating with his 
empty hand upon her brow, “ These little 
locks are not curls either, I suppose ? Speak, 
Beauty, what dost thou say? The Beast 
commands thee, speak.” 

“ I say in all full penytents,” she whispered 
in a winning, witching way, “ pease let me 
doe?” 

“ Will you be good, and tell me all about 
it? And never turn your head that way 
again ?” 

“ I will be awfully good.” 

“ And will be good forever — all the time?” 

“ Awfully good,” again she echoed in deep 
penitence. 


FORGETMENOT. 


67 


“And ere he had time to release his hold 
she swiftly drew one hand away and seizing 
the leaf pelted him on the lips, while adding 
gleefully, ‘ Good,' exactly this way !” 

“Very well, the Beauty shall be punished 
now,” he uttered gravely, and drawing his 
arm around her lovingly was about to inflict 
the punishment, when again she caught the 
leaf and drew it before her face, exclaiming 
as she did so : 

“Leaf me alone, leaf it be!” And her 
merry laugh rang out, and woke the echoes 
in the trees. 

“I am outdone,” he groaned, and fell back 
on the grass. “The shot has gone quite 
home. The Beast is slain, and lies here 
bleeding. Will you bind up the wound? 
Make haste before it is too late. Bring your 
balsam, and make haste — ‘delays are dan- 
gerous.’ What ! will not hear a dying groan ? 
Then will I call the ‘Nighingale’ — she it is 
who heals the sick and bindeth up their 
wounds.” 

“Oh, yes, I hear thy dying groan,” she 
echoed softly, and caressed him with her 
hand. “What wilt thou have more than the 


68 


FORGETMENOT. 


touch of this poor harmless hand, which has 
lately been in prison ? ” 

“Nay, nay,” he cried despairingly, “that 
seems to do no good. A kiss, I think, is 
what is needed.” 

“ No, no, Milord, I think you are mistaken. 
’Tis some flight of fancy that has turned your 
head, and set your brain to dreaming. Don’t 
you know it is the oaks that you now worship. 
You kneel to them, and even kiss their 
leaves — look up, and praise the oaks ! Here 
is the balsam that you long to have.” 

And she bound the offending leaf upon 
his lips. And then adjusting his head to be 
exactly straight, she placed a little pile of 
sticks on top the leaf and said : 

“Now lay quite still, for here’s the funeral 
pile, in case you die ! I think with you, at 
last, the disease is fatal ! So, fare thee well,” 
she sang out sweetly, and went on softly 
singing, 

“ Farewell, my brave and bonny lad, 

Now that thy life is o’er, — 

If thou shouldst live to tell the tale, 

’Twill not be as before. 

\ 


FORGETMENOT. 


69 


“ A y, Katy-did, and cricket too, 

And ’quito, if you may, 

Come, tell him of the woes he had, 

And how he went astray. 

“ And, show him well, the moral too, — 

How fruits forbidden lie 
Behind the masks we cannot see, 

And more, we must not try. 

“ For though so ‘ sweet’ they seem to be 
When first our lips we fill, — 

Beware, the ‘thorn’ behind the ‘rose’ — 

The ‘ bitter’ yet will spill. 

“ And so upon thy early grave 
We place the warning word, 

Whenever Prudence speaks to thee, 

Her voicing must be heard ! 

“Now hush,” she said, “y£*i Katy-dids, 
and crickets, all be still,” softly smoothing 
his eyelids shut, as she knelt down beside 
him, “His life is o’er — he sleeps the sleep of 
sweet Repentance ; and when the resurrection 
comes, he’ll be as fair and lovely as the day. 
And you, great mighty oaks, above his head, 
will be the monitors to see that he will never 
sin again ! ” 

And as she was about to rise, he opened 
his eyes and caught her gently in his arms, 


70 


FORGETMENOT. 


and gave her the tenderest kiss that ever 
brother gave a child, saying as he did so : 

“ You put sense on my eyes, and now they 
open wide, and see the day. Really, I feel 
as if I’d been in Dreamland sure enough. 
Alise, you’ve wound some spell about me — 
some sweet and fragrant spell.” 

And seating her on the bench, and him- 
self beside her, he drew the paper from the 
ground, and said, “What have you here in 
this?” 

“ Lots of nice things. But you can’t read 
it yet. I want to show you something else. 
I will, though, ask you one conundrum that 
I found in it. What Key is it that winds up 
many a man’ .sjausi ness ? ” 

“ I can’t think of anything but Monkey.” 

“ No, sir; guess again.” 

“ Well, a Monkey could do it, if he once 
got hold. That Monkey in 4 Evelina ’ 
wound up that little fop pretty fast. Did 
you ever hear of Captain Mirvan ?” 

“ Indeed I have. But you must guess 
again.” 

“Guess what? That you’re a monkey?” 

“No, nor a Darwin either. But you 


FORGETMENOT. 


7 1 

must evolve the answer to my riddle. What 
kind of a key is it that often winds up a 
man’s business?” 

44 Sandus^^y, there! now I know that’s 
it.” 

44 No, it isn’t, though the winding is often 
4 dusky,’ and sad too. I think the question 
ought to be, 4 winds up a man’s life,’ because 
it is the key that certainly does that. Can’t 
you guess? 

44 No, I give it up. Tell me.” 

44 Whiskey .” 

44 Well, that’s so! It does wind up more 
lives than anything — any evil in the world. 
And I thank God that ‘King Alcohol’ is 
digging his own grave. He has already lost 
the title which he never should have had, 
and Queen Temperance is slowing but surely 
ascending the Throne.” 

44 Carlyle,” she said, laying her hand on his, 
and looking up confidingly, 44 1 am so glad 
your breath is always pure. No evil 
words come from it — no evil fumes. You 
do not even smoke, do you? I know you 
don’t.” 

Here he looked a little conscience-stricken, 
and replied : 


72 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ How do you know?” 

“ Because, I could tell it in a minute ; just 
as soon as you came near me. At any rate, 
I know you don’t smoke before you come to 
me ?” 

“Yes, you are correct. I don’t. Don’t 
smoke before I come to you ; and do not do 
it often, anyhow.” 

“ Often !” she repeated. “ Is that all you 
can say? I like ‘ never ,’ sometimes.” 

“ Well, you can say that about me for the 
liquor. I never touch a drop of it in any 
form. I abhor the very name. It is a 
wretched curse, that soon or late is bound to 
leave our land ! And as for the tobacco, it is 
an evil too, and I believe a growing one. 
You are right in telling me about it. Of 
course it is not the same in compass ; but it is 
an evil and a folly. I never should have 
learned. Boys are such silly things some- 
times, especially at college. They seem to 
think they must learn all manner of things 
which they never should go near. Imagine 
that it is manly to do so, and shows their 
independence, when, in truth, the independ- 
ence is the other way. College is a good 


FORGETMENOT. 


73 


school in many ways, but a bad one in others. 
I tell you, Child, 4 a little leaven leavens the 
whole lump.’ Thank goodness/’ bringing 
his hand down on his knee, u I only brought 
one vice from there, and I hope that is soon 
to leave me. Else I will banish it,” he 
added firmly. 

But feeling that perhaps she had encroached 
too far, she shyly said : 

4 4 Maybe I should not speak ? ” 

4 4 Yes, yes, you should, and so should all 
of woman-kind. They should raise their 
single, and united voice against all manner of 
evil, and then there would be much reform. 
Women are the lamps, you know, that 
show us the right way — and, too, the guiding- 
stars, that keep us in the way. I declare 
again,” he went on with conviction, 44 that 
this eternal smoke, smoke, smoke in man and 
boy, is a horrid nuisance. And, besides, is 
often sickening. Ladies frequently turn pale 
when the fumes are blown into their faces. 
Is this not so ? ” 

4 4 Yes,” she said, 4 4 and men grow selfish 
from it. They often ask, but never mean 
you to say, 4 No.’ And it is hard to say it, 


74 


FORGETMENOT. 


even if you think they half expect it. Which 
is not often, Carly.” 

And then she added, smiling : 

“Don’t you know they sometimes remind 
me of a faulty chimney — can’t do anything 
else but smoke, — and just 'will smoke l” 

“Goodness! Child, that is severe. But 
still it’s true. I had not thought of it before. 
But I see it now. Yes, I see quite well. 
You’ve made it plain — the simile is monstrous 
fine. Bad chimneys everywhere ! ” he laughed 
aloud. “We should have a quantity of 
sweeps, and clean them out. And then light 
up some straw and finish with a burning, — 
with a royal bon-fire ! The idea is a fine one. 
Which will you burn — men, or cigars?” 

“O, cigars, cigars,” she said, “you know 
I would not burn a man. We want them 
all — every one that God has made. But, we 
want them good, and true, and grand,” she 
finished solemnly. 

They both sat thinking for a while, and 
then he said : 

“Were you not going to read me some- 
thing ? Is this it in your hand ? Let’s see — 
where do you get so many choice things? 


FORGETMENOT. 75 

They seem to fall right to you like some 
golden fruit.” 

“Not always, Carly. I sometimes have to 
search. But then, again, they come. This 
piece is on singing. Mrs. Clairmont sent it 
to me. She sends me many lovely things — 
mostly about books and authors. She is 
resolved that I shall be an author. And if I 
ever am, it seems that she ought to wear the 
crown instead of me. She is ever thoughtful, 
and she thinks of everything. Carly, you 
must know her.” 

4 4 I surely must,” he said. 4 4 But in the mean- 
time, you can tell me of her. What is her 
chief attribute ? Or, what are they all ? ” 

44 Culture, and gentleness, I should say. 
These are the blooming flowers of her garden. 
And then, oh, I have found in her what the 
Poet calls, 4 The calm of self-possession.’ 
When I visit her cottage-home I la}' on the 
sofa as she moves about through all the busy 
day, and I love to watch her, and to hear her 
voice. And above all, I love to see this 
4 calm.’ It is beautiful in every character. 
And it does belong to her’s. Dear Mr. 
Whittier must have seen it somewhere, before 


FORGETMENOT. 


76 

he wrote of it. People cannot write of 
things, unless they see , or feel them, — really 
and truly see or feel. I mean with the spirit- 
eye, and mental, not only with the outward 
one. If they do not see, and feel, the writing 
is only words — it has not soul, it has not 
feeling — it revealeth nothing. The author is 
not an author after all. 

“Yes,” she said, after thinking awhile, 
authors must know , and realize , and not 
guess at what they write ; or else their page 
is nothing but vain words — all filled with 
emptiness. 

“Oh, Brother, Brother ! ” she exclaimed, 
the soul-light shining in her eyes, “you know 
not how I long to write ! Sometimes, when 
I am lost among my thoughts, I feel as if a 
pair of wings were growing — as if I soon 
would soar and fly — into the realm of 
mystery — -far, unknown — the beauteous realm 
of Thought ! And oh ! the scene is sweet 
and beautiful ! The air is filled with music 
of the spheres, and melody of birds ; and 
choicest flowers blooming everywhere. The 
perfume is so sweet, — all things so lovely, 
and so sweet. And, over all, the loving 
smile of God ! 


FORGETMENOT. 


77 


“Oh, would that my Heavenly Father 
would let me take the pen and write, — some- 
thing that was worthy of the name. I do not 
mean a sounding brass and tinkling cymbal. 
No, no ! I mean that I would like to build a 
mental monument, to mark my life, and 
others. And too, a sign-board, to mark out, 
and point the way, for those who live , and 
travel on to meet their God ! 

“I wonder, oh! I wonder, if ever it will 
be ? What a mystical world, is that of Letters, 
Brother. 

“ If I could only write a book — ‘Hyperion’ ! 
It could not, I well know, be equal to the 
Poet-father’s work. But then it might be one 
just of itself. I would like to give it that 
same name. O ! would that I had known 
dear Mr. Longfellow. It will always be a 
trial that I did not — could not even see him 
once — just once, within my life.” 

“ Too bad, Little One, you could not. But 
maybe you may know his sons, or daughters 
yet, or sister — she still lives, I think. And, 
some of them may show you in his house, 
and study-room. And if so, in those halls, 
you may, perhaps, imbibe the spirit of his 
life.” 


7 8 


FORGETMENOT. 


44 O, maybe so — maybe so ! ” she exclaimed 
with a face lit up. “And there, perhaps, 
I’d find my 4 inspiration ’ ! Carly, do you 
know why he, as well as others, have called 
their books 4 Hyperion ’ ? ” 

“No,” he answered, “I can simply tell 
the meaning of the word.” 

“I know that too,” she said. “One of 
my friends has written me about it. But I 
believe that no one knows why the Poet- 
father named his favorite work just so. The 
Poet-Doctor says 4 he knows not why it is, 
unless for the same reason, that a loving 
mother names her darling, Belle.’ Yes, I 
think this must be so. I have read the different 
meanings, and the legends of the word. And 
to my mind it is now plain that 4 Hyperion ’ 
means, Soaring aloft. And it is a beautiful 
word, and title, for a book. Yes, some day, 
I must write a work, ‘Hyperion.’ 

“But, we have gone away, and left our 
subject far behind. What were we speaking 
of?” she said, in coming back. “ O, now 
I do remember, — my mother-friend, who has 
the lovely 4 calm of self-possession ’ ; and 
through whose life there flows the sweet and 


FORGETMENOT. 


79 


beauteous stream of Thoughtfulness. Carlyle, 
do you wonder that I lie and watch her, when 
I’m near, and wish that I might copy her? 
Surely you must know her. 

“ But now let’s see our piece. This is the 
one she sent me last. We were talking of 
music and singing, one day, and now she has 
sent me this. Here it is, and I have read it ; 
but I would like to hear it again. So you 
must read aloud. It is really wonderful. 
But you must see for yourself. Go on and 
read. 

“You see it is from the Waterbury Amer- 
ican. I don’t know what Waterbury it is. 
But never mind. Read the whole thing, 
introduction and all.” 

“Clara Louise Kellogg?” he said, as his 
eyes ran over. 

“Oh, yes, didn’t you know? It’s about 
that sweet and wonderful singer. How I 
would like to hear her ! I have long had a 
picture of her, — on a writing-paper box ; but 
have never seen her. And how dearly I 
would love to ! But, hurry and read.” 

Thus he began : 

“ Mr. and Mrs. George Kellogg, parents 


8o 


FORGETMENOT. 


of Clara Louise, are in Birmingham. The 
daughter is in Europe, and the mother is 
about to write her life. 

‘‘The Ansonia Sentinel interviewed the 
mother of the great songstress, and thus nar- 
rates the circumstance of the child’s first 
song : 

“ Louise was but nine months old. We had just 
buried a little one in the South, and had fled north- 
ward to escape the infection of a disease there 
prevailing — very fatal among the children. We 
brought with us a servant girl that had care of the 
child, and who was always singing a certain favor- 
ite song, couched in the quaint and queer music of 
the plantation. One day little Louise was sitting 
upon the floor, when, to my utter astonishment, 
she commenced singing, in perfect time and tune, 
the song alluded to, which so frightened me that I 
called out to my mother, ‘The baby will die ! Oh, 
my God, the baby will die ! ’ 

“ Mother came hastening into the room, expect- 
ing to find the child in the agonies of death, only 
to exclaim, ‘ Nonsense! What ails you, daughter? 
There is nothing the matter with the child. See, 
it is crowing at you now.’ ‘ But, mother,’ I ex- 
claimed, ‘ that nine-months babe has just been 
singing wonderfully the nurse’s song, and it is go- 
ing to die, I know it is ! ’ And I went almost wild 
in my alarm. But the baby did not die, and thank 
God that it didn’t, for it was born to bless — as only 


FORGETMENOT. 


8l 


music can bless — the hearts of a world. This story 
of our daughter’s first song,” continued Mrs. Kel- 
logg* “however improbable, judged by ordinary 
events, is nevertheless strictly true. I could not 
account for it at the time ; I cannot fully do so now. 
I did not know then how to interpret so unusual a 
happening, except as a warning. 

“In the light of subsequent events, I may now 
perhaps guess at a more probable solution.” 

“ Then,” he continued, running his eye 
over, “ the writer goes on to say that Mrs. 
Kellogg spoke earnestly and sincerely ; and 
that it must be very true. And that the house 
where the family lived at the time, is now 
owned by Mrs. Eliza Stevens, and i& imme- 
diately back of the Episcopal church ; a pic- 
ture of which will appear in the biography, 
as being the place where the baby-prima 
donna made its debut before the world.” 

“ Is that not beautiful?” exclaimed Alise, 
when the last word had scarcely died. “ Is 
it not wonderful? I heard a lady say she 
doubted ; but I believe each word — every 
single one, and love to read of it — the sweet 
little baby on the floor ! ” And her eyes filled 
up with tears. “I don’t wonder that her 
mamma is proud of her, and loves her ; 


82 


FORGETMENOT. 


and is going to write her life. I hope to see 
it when it’s done. I would love to read her 
whole life thfough. 

u Cousin,” she said, now looking up, “ do 
you think I’ll ever see her?” 

“See her? Of course you will,” he an- 
swered, “one of these fine days. Many 
things will come to pass between now and 
the great Beyond ! ” he added, as if speaking 
out the words of prophecy, both for himself 
and her. “Full many things, my Little 
One,” he again said tenderly, and smoothed 
her soft white cheek. “And among them 
all, I want to see some roses blossom here — 
you are too pale. I like pale beauties ; but 
it makes me fear that you are ill.” 

“Oh no, I’m not,” she said evasively, 
“ and I’m sure I always will be pale.” And 
then she added with a thought, “I am not so 
very white after all, for a gentleman told me 
once, that I was a little pale blush rose. So 
I must have had some color then.” 

“But maybe he brought it there!” was 
teasingly suggested. 

“O no, what makes you say such foolish 
things ? ” / 


FORGETMENOT. 


83 

“Well, if he did, or not, I see the color 
coming now. And that’s a very pretty name. 
Now tell me, Little Rose, (blush, Rose”) 
touching her cheek, “who that gentry was? ” 

“Who — that gentry was?” she said with 
mock solemnity, “no, no, no. Why of 
course, no one” she added laughingly. “Just 
some spirit of a man, that’s all. And don’t 
let’s talk about it any more. I’ve something 
else for you to read, — the sweetest piece of 
poetry.” 

“You read it to me,” he said, handing it 
back. “I would much rather listen. ’Tis 
many a day since you’ve rested me as you 
used to do of old. Let me lie here on the 
grass and listen to your voice? The piece 
will sound much sweeter to me then, even 
though ’tis pretty in itself.” 

“Oh no, I can’t,” she answered. I am 
tired, and my eyes are weary too. I’d so 
much rather have you read. Do, please? ” 

“Well, hand it here,” he said. “I never 
can resist that coaxing voice.” 

“That’s good! I thought you would. 
Now do it your very best. I wished for your 
rich voice the very day I found it. Give it 


8 4 


FORGETMENOT. 


melody, and feeling,” she concluded, placing 
it in his hand, and resting her head back in 
a thoughtful, listening mood. “I like the 
very title,” she softly added — 4 O ! God, come 
near to me ! ’ ” 

And so he did his very best — -each word, 
as it came to light, being filled with melody, 
and feeling deep. 

O ! would that every one could take these 
lines into his life, and heart, and soul ! There 
is too much of living — or trying to live — apart 
from our great God. 

In days, and weeks, and months, and even 
years of happiness, His children — oh ! so 
many — seem scarcely willing to raise to 
Him a single thought. 

But wait till the hour of trial and anguish 
comes — then, ah ! then do we hear, in the 
words of Mrs. Browning, the sad “ Cry of 
the Human.” Then it is a bitter wail, in 
hours of pain, when time has been so wasted ! 
ah, then it is a bitter wail ! 

But the great and loving God, who knows 
and sees all things, will even then “come 
near.” 

We cannot here reveal the human voice, 


FORGETMENOT. 


85 

save in imagination. But we can give the 
words he read and give them as a mouth-piece 
for each one who reads herein. 

As we listen — as we linger — ’neath the 
trees beside these happy ones, may not some 
vow be taken ? May not some tiny spark be 
kindled into glowing flame — some little pass- 
ing wish, or feeble aspiration burst forth in 
songful praise to God? 

“Defer not till to-morrow what should be 
done to-day.” And, Reader, gentle friend, 
let not thy heart be stony — made of flint. 
Remember that our days are short, and all 
are numbered. And that Our Father knows 
the rise and setting of each one. O ! then, 
ere we lie down to sleep, let us lift up our 
souls in simple prayer to God, and ask Him 
to ‘come near.’ Ay, take the inspiration of 
this Poetess, and beg Him to — 


COME NEAR. 

“ Come near to me. I need Thy glorious presence 
Thro’ the dense darkness of this troubled hour. 
Shine on my soul, and fill it with the essence 
Of Thy pervading and uplifting power. 

Come near; come near to me. 


86 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ Come nearer yet. I have no strength to reach Thee. 
My soul is like a bird with broken wings. 

Lean down from Thy fair heights and teach me 
The balm Thy touch to mortal beings brings. 
Lean down, O God, lean down. 

“ Come near. And yet, if those eternal places 
Hold greater tasks to occupy Thy hands, 

Send Thy blest angels whose celestial faces 
Smile sometimes on us from the spirit lands. 
Send one, send one to me. 

“ I must have help. I am so weak and broken 
I cannot help myself— I know not how. 

That moral force, of which so much is spoken, 
Will not sustain and fortify me now — 

I must, I must have help. 

“Some outside aid, some strength from spirit sources 
We all must have, in hours like this, or die. 

To one, to all, of those mysterious forces 
Which men call God, I lift myself and cry 
Come near, come near to me.” 

As he concluded, she thanked him with 
her eyes all filled with tears, and a soul-light 
on her face that no one could mistake. And 
after a time responded softly : 

“Ella Wheeler. She must be good , as 
well as gifted. She well deserves the homage 
and the honors she has had. Carly, I feel that 


FORGETMENOT. 


87 

she has earned it all ; yes, I feel quite sure ; 
and don’t you know she made enough to buy 
a home, and to support some relative — I think 
a tender mother. Then there was a sequel,” 
she continued, smiling, “one admirer merged 
into a lover. First, she captivated him, and 
then he captured her. But I hope he’ll 
always have a gilded cage in which to keep 
his pretty bird ; and that her song will evei 
float upon the breeze. Indeed he must not 
clip her spirit-wings, nor take away her soul 
divine. Do you think he will? ” 

“I should surely think not, Child. He 
must be a poor manner of man, if he could, 
or would, do either — and most of all, un- 
worthy of his prize. But, most men are 
unworthy of such, blessing, anyhow,” he 
added absently. 

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Man, you 
know, is the master-piece of God.” 

“Yes, yes, the real man is; but there are 
such a host of counterfeits. So many lovely 
women seem to draw a blank. But then I 
suppose there is no help for it, so long as you 
fair beings must be unsuspecting. For some 
reasons it would seem to be far better, were 


88 


FORGETMENOT. 


you — your kind — a little more suspecting. 
And yet, again, your very innocence makes 
you ten-fold sweeter and more lovely.” 

“ Why should it be?” she said inquiringly, 
44 I do not seem to understand you quite. It 
seems to me, that we should have some 
strength , as well as loveliness. And not 
only 4 sow the seeds of Good,’ but plant 
them, and see that they take root in people’s 
souls. So that when our Father calls us, we 
can hear the words, 4 well done, well done ! ’ 
Those are the blessed words that I will hope 
to hear, when last I 4 lay me down to sleep ! ’ ” 

44 Yes, you are right,” he said, 44 even the 
fairest, daintiest flower, must have courage 
to stem the gale ; and the power to sow its 
seed, and cast its perfume on the wind. 
And, Alise,” he went on earnestly, and look- 
ing in her truthful eyes, 44 soul-life, and love 
of God, will do it all. Keep this life, and 
love, my precious Little One ! ” 

And he drew her closely in his tender arms. 
She did not resist him now ; but harkened in 
a reverential way as he continued, half to 
liimself and half aloud : 

44 Would that this arm could ever shield 


FORGETMENOT. 89 

this frail and fragrant little Flower from the 
storm ! 

“Alise,” he said again directly, as he 
pressed his lips upon her brow, u you must 
always look to me, in joy, or in pain. Call, 
and I will hear you, even if I am not by. I 
trust the time may come when I am ever by ! 
But, if I am not, you must call. Do you 
hear me, Little One? ” 

“ I hear,” she answered softly in a tone of 
gratitude. 

And placing her arm about his neck, she 
gave him a childish, earnest kiss. And well 
he valued it — this virgin-token of esteem, and 
perfect love. 

Why should he not? 

This Pearl of Purity was sent to be a pre- 
cious setting for his life ! This Child of 
Faith to be his little Queen ! 

An Author somewhere says, “All men 
must have a Queen — in mother ; sister ; sweet- 
heart ; or, a bride.” 

These may not be her words, but still the 
substance of them. The truth remains. 
Most men realize the fact, and feel the need. 

’Tis plain our hero did, because he often 


9 o 


FORGETMENOT. 


said as now, in tender tone, “My Little 
Queen ! ” 

And some one else has said, that “ Every 
man and boy must have a gentle friend — a 
female counsellor — in fine, a guardian angel 
in his life. ,? 

Of course he must learn wisdom, thus to 
choose — to seek the pure gold amidst the 
dross. 

But, when he finds the metal pure, ’twill 
softly glitter in his life, and guild his every 
thought. Ay, it will truly be, — 

A check on impulse vain and ill, 

And homely with intent; 

An inspiration sweet and soft 

On thoughts which God has sent. 

And therefore do we say once more, each boy 
must have his guardian-friend — each man 
must have his Queen ! And, all should learn 
to sing, in accents sweet and strong, that 
tender, beauteous song, “My Queen, my 
Queen ! ” 

But to our theme. 

“Let me go now, please,” she said. “I 


FORGETMENOT. 


9 1 


still have more of poetry. Are you tired? 
And then too,” she ran on, “ I have the love- 
liest acrostic, sent me by a darling friend. 
You must see it. And after that, the prettiest, 
cutest piece, that I copied lately for our friend — 
our ‘Mutual,’ you know,” she added with 
mischief in her eyes. “Have you Camp- 
bell’s Poems?” she continued, while search- 
ing her pocket fora certain envelope. “I 
want to read them much, especially one 
piece. My copy is an antique one, and has 
not the piece about ‘ Napoleon and the British 
Sailor,’ in it. Say, have you ? Stop singing, 
and cutting that little stick. You can do both 
another time. Have you the book?” taking 
hold of his hand. 

U I certainly have, and you shall have it 
soon. So 1 Take Heart,’ ” he added, glancing 
at the title of the poem which she handed him, 
and saying as she did so, “Please read again, 
and do your best? — out loud) I want to hear 
it.” 

Running his quick eye over as he took it, 
he proceeded in his deep, melodious tone, 


9 2 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ All day the stormy wind has blown 
From off the dark and briny sea ; 

No bird has past the window flown, 

The only song has been the moan 
The wind made in the willow tree. 

“ This is the summer’s burial time; 

She died when dropped the earliest leaves, 
And cold upon her rosy prime 
Fell down the autumn’s frosty rime — 

Yet I am not as one that grieves. 

“ For well I know o’er sunny seas 

The blue-bird waits for April skies; 

And at the root of forest trees 

The May flowers sleep in fragrant ease, 

And violets hide their azure eyes. 

“ O thou, by winds of grief o’erblown 
Beside some golden summer’s bier, — 

Take heart! — thy birds are only flown, 

Thy blossoms sleeping, tearful sown, 

To greet thee in the immortal year ! ” 

“Beautiful,” again quoth he. u Sublime ! 
Your pieces are most choice. Where do you 
find them all, I wonder? ” 

“ Oh, in my gold-mine,” she thus answered 
him. “You know I have a gold-mine, where 
i dig.” 


FORGETMENOT. 93 

u Do you know the author this time? ” he 
enquired, still reading over the lines. 

“No; I only wish I did. Can’t you tell 
it me ? ” 

“ Nay, I am too ignorant. But I will try 
to find it for you. It may be in some of the 
collections that we have.” 

“ Then please look, if you have the time.” 

“I will take the time, and look with 
pleasure.” 

He went on humming now, speaking his 
words between. 

4 ‘ Now the other, let me see ; am I to read 
it too?” 

But just as it touched ‘his hand, he broke 
out with the bright, sweet song, 

“ Down the shadowed lane she goes, 

And her arms are la-den 
With the woodbine and wild-rose, 

Hap-py lit-tle maid-en ! 

Sweetly, sweetly, doth she sing, 

Like the lark a-bove — her ; 

Sure-ly ev’-ry living thing 
That has seen must love — her, 

That has seen must love— her. 


94 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ As she strayed and as she sung, 

Hap-py lit-tle maid-en, 

Shad’-wy lanes and dells a-mong, 

With wild flow-ers la- -den; 

Chanced a bon-ny youth that way, 

For the lanes were shad-y ; 

She dropped one wee flower, they say, 

Did this lit-tle la- -dy. 

“ Dropped a flow-er, so they say ; 

Dropped and nev-er missed it; 

And the youth a-lack-a-day ! 

Picked it up and kissed — it. 

Now in sweet lane wan-der-ings, 

With love-flow-ers la-den, 

With her love she strays and sings, 

Hap-py lit-tle maid-en ! 

Sweet-ly, sweet-ly, doth she sing, 

Like the lark above — her ; 

Sure-ly ev’-ry liv-ing thing 
That has seen must love her, 

That has seen must love — her.” 

“ Now isn’t that lovely ?” he asked. “I 
think it just too sweet for anything. And, it 
applies right here, ,, resting his hand upon 
her, from where he lay on the grass again. 

“Now the piece about the Sailor Boy. I 
want all you have for me. It’s food for the 


FORGETMENOT. 95 

soul. Did you say you copied this for Han- 
way ? Must I read this too ? ” 

“ Yes, all. I like to hear it.” 

Gracefully he proceeded with the sketch as 
follows : 

“ Captain Drever’s foolhardy attempt to cross the 
English Channel in a toy paddle-wheel boat, recalls 
an incident in the life of Napoleon, which Camp- 
bell made the subject of one of his best poems. 

“The story is, that a captive British seaman, left 
free, however, to walk about Boulogne, found an 
empty hogshead one night on the beach, and fash- 
ioned out of it a rude skiff, with which he launched 
boldly forth for England. But he was caught with 
his tub by the French guard, and with much 
laughter taken before Napoleon. The Emperor 
was, however, touched by the daring of the sailor, 
spoke to him kindly, and asked ‘ if his heart was not 
imprisoned by some British lass, to make him so 
bold?’ — But let Campbell tell the rest of the story: 

“ ‘I have no sweetheart,’ said the lad, 

‘ But — absent long from one another — 

Great was the longing that I had 
To see my mother.’ 

“ ‘And so thou shalt,’ Napoleon said, 

‘ You’ve both my favor fairly won ; 

A noble mother must have bred 
So brave a son.’ 


9 6 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ He gave the Tar a piece of gold, 

And, with a flag-of-truce, commanded, 

He should be shipped to England Old, 

And safely landed.” 

“It is pretty, Child, and touching. Ever 
so sweet. It goes right to the heart — and 
especially, I should think, to one who has 
been a sailor-boy himself. Did he like it? 
What did he say?” 

“O, there is something funny connected 
with it. I will have to tell you of it, and the 
funny thing as well ; but not just now. I 
have a joke on him. But what is this? ” she 
interposed, getting a glimpse of something. 
“Take it from your pocket — let me see?” 

“O, something that I brought my Little 
Lass ; and very fitting at this point, with the 
poem, and our project too in hand. Shall I 
read ? ” 

“If you please,” she answered. And he 
read impressively, 

“ There’s always a river to cross; 

Always an effort to make 
If there’s anything good to win, 

Any rich prize to take. 

Yonder’s the fruit we crave, 

Yonder the charming scene; 

But deep and wide, with a troubled tide, 

Is the river that lies between. 


FORGETMENOT. 


97 


“ For the treasures of precious worth 
We must patiently dig and dive; 

For the places we long to fill 

We must push, and struggle, and strive, 
And always, and everywhere, 

We’ll find in our onward course 
Thorns for the feet, and trials to meet 
And a difficult river to cross. 

“ For, rougher the way that we take, 

The stouter the heart and the nerve ; 

The stones in our path we break, 

Nor e’er from our impulse swerve. 

For the glory we hope to win 
Our labors we count no loss ; 

’Tis folly to pause and murmur because 
Of the river we have to cross. 

“So, ready to do and to dare 

Should we in our places stand ; 

Fulfilling the Master’s will, 

Fulfilling the soul’s demand; 

For though as the mountain high 

The billows may roar and toss, [helm 
They’ll not overwhelm if the Lord's at the 
When the difficult river we cross.” 

“Oh, that is good l Where did you find 
? ” she exclaimed. 

“Among my scraps this time.” 

“And who wrote it?” 

“I don’t know. But I mean to keep it as 


FORGETMENOT. 


9 s 

a sort of motto in my life. Do you want 
it?” 

“Why, you said you wished to keep it?” 

“And so I do. ’Tis already in my mind, 
and you can have the paper. I brought it 
for you.” 

“You are very kind,” she said in taking 
it. “I will keep it with much pleasure, and 
have it for my motto too. What a treasure- 
house I’ll have some day, with all of my col- 
lections. Carly, I think I’ll have to make a 
book — a printed book, — and call it ‘ Gems.’ ” 

“ A capital idea ! Do.” 

“But, who would publish? And who 
would read? — ‘There’s the Rub,’” she re- 
sponded laughingly. 

“Never mind about the publisher, you’ll 
find him presently — just prepare your book, 
there’s time enough for him. And as for 
reading, why, I will read,” he laughed. 
“Now the acrostic. Don’t you seethe sun 
is falling low, and I must soon be going. 
But I want all — all, before I go.” 

“ Well, then, take some of this strong food 
that I’ve been eating lately. Hand me that 
brown book out of the ‘ treetop,’ please. It 


FORGETMENOT. 


99 


is one that has been loaned to me. Just see 
what Joseph Cook has said in one of his 
great lectures. I will read it to you. Thomas 
.Paine, he’s speaking of, whose ‘Memorial 
Building ’ was sold, you know, to cover mort- 
gages ? ” 

“No, I did not, — when?” he asked. 

“October ist the day is, — the meeting of 
Trustees, in 1877.” 

“And where was this great Memorial? ” 

“ In Boston. You ought to remember it, 
surely.” 

“ Yes, I believe now I have some recollec- 
tion of it. It had faded from my mind. 
But I’m glad to hear the finale. And so it 
has been sold ? ” 

“ Yes, to pay the taxes,” she responded, 
with a touch of pity. Then, with a smiling 
thought she added, “Mr. Ingersoll surely 
could not have been informed — else he would 
have paid the taxes with his brain.” 

“Why so, My Lady, why? Because it is 
so heavy?” 

“There are two kinds of heavy,” she re- 
plied. “ Some things are so heavy that they 
cannot rise. But I guess he thinks that his 


IOO 


FORGETMENOT. 


is of the better kind ; and perhaps his shadow- 
mortals think the same.” 

“ Shadow-mortals ? ” he interrupted, “what 
do you mean ? ” 

“Why,” she said, with quizzical surprise, 
“those who think what he bids them , and 
laugh when he tells them to laugh ! You 
know he is the sun — no, I guess he’s the moon, 
and shines by reflected light — for I do not 
believe he has real Light. However, he is 
the heavenly body — no, not heavenly, he 
would not like me to call him that — he is the 
earthly body, and they are his earthy satel- 
lites, going round and round in a circle, 
thinking what he thinks, jeering where he 
jeers, and paying fifty cents for a hearty 
laugh ! Why, Carly, I would give them a 
laugh for nothing. Well, I mean, if I were 
in his place and so generous ( ?) as he ! And 
it seems to me that were I some of those 
satellites, I would not want to be a flock of 
sheep and jump into the mire just because 
the first one jumped. For it may be that the 
first one was the ‘black-sheep’ of them all. 
It can’t be the white and chosen one, because 
he does not seem to like God’s fold. No, no, 


FORGETMENOT. 


IOI 


he does not speak in loving kindness of the 
Shepherd of the glorious Fold. And there- 
fore I feel almost sure he is not one of the 
chosen ones. And so I wonder that the 
sheep — the other sheep — flock so in herds to 
hear him. Why do not they wait awhile, and 
see what his end will be ? And when they 
want to laugh and jeer, oh ! why don’t they 
choose a coarser topic, instead of a sacred 
theme ? Can’t they — can’t they see that they 
are learning thus to defy the very conscience 
that God has placed within them ? That they 
are thereby soiling the beautiful fair souls that 
He has given them for treasures all through 
life ? O, treasures they should guard and care 
for, to bring back fair and spotless to His 
hand !” 

Her voice was full of earnest and tender 
pathos. And as she looked into his face she 
echoed : 

“Why?” 

“Go on — go on,” he said. “ I listen, and 
agree — go on.” 

And like some sad, appealing wail, again 
she murmured : 

“Why? Why do they follow on this 


102 


FORGETMENOT. 


heathen God, instead of honoring the One 
most High? Surely, surely, none of those 
who go to listen, and to laugh — to laugh 
away their tender conscience thus — did ever 
learn this jeering at their mother’s knee. 
But rather, when the lamp burned low, did 
breathe the tender little prayer of 4 Now I 
lay me down to sleep.’” 

A blessed silence fell. 

44 Brother dear,” she went on presently, 

4 4 it is not well to forget to say our little 
prayer to God. Even in a single day our 
feet are apt to go astray. And even stalwart 
men should say, at night-time, and in early 
morn, 4 Our Father’ ! It does not take much 
time, and oh ! it lifts the heavy weight from 
off so many lives ! ” 

And here she ceased, as if her soul would 
rise to meet her God — flee from its little 
mortal home to that which knows not e’en 
decay, nor ever trace of change ! Her voice 
of childishness was full of adoration and of 
praise ; her pale and fragile face was lit with 
radiant light. Soul-Mght, we would call it, 
though an author calls it 4 Solar.’ 

“Child,” he said, still lying there beside 


FORGETMENOT. 


IO3 

her, and looking in her far-off yearning eyes, 
v “you seem to be in a mystic trance, and yet 
’tis steeped with sweet reality. This peaceful 
quiet scene and sweet solemnity are food and 
raiment for my soul. Go on. Have you no 
more to say ? What was that you were going 
to say of ‘ brains ’ ? ” 

She looked down at him for a moment, as 
if collecting thought, and then responded 
with a touch of sadness in her smile : 

“I was only going to say, in jest, that Mr. 
Ingersoll should have been there and paid the 
taxes with his brains, because he’s taxed them 
so with this same ‘ Paineful’ theme. But, 
instead of making a jest, after the manner of 
Mr. Cook, I find it is a painful theme, and do 
not feel like jesting on it now. It hurts my 
heart and soul. 

“ Oh, Brother, Brother ! ” she exclaimed, 
u skeptics may talk about the ‘Age of Reason,’ 
but the age of Faith is holier — more beauti- 
ful ! 

“I pity the life of that poor man, although 
I know it does not ask our pity — I pity more, 
still more, the lives of those he lowered — 
must have sullied — for he thoi^ht the same 


RoRgEtMENOT, 


104 

himself before he died. And oh ! I pity his 
dreary, desolate end — freed from the shackles 
— disease, and decay — leaving the tempests 
of Life behind, and slipping alone — alone, 
into the river of Death. Darksome, hopeless, 
alone, — alone ! 

“You talk now,” she presently said, "draw- 
ing a long fresh breath. “This fearful, 
painful picture, seems to hang a curtain of 
sadness around.” 

“What was it,” then he asked, “about 
his seeing the harm himself? ” 

“ Yes, that was what I was going to read — 
it was near his suffering close. We must 
have it still before we’re done. Even if we 
don’t need it — need these fearful lessons of 
Infidelity, the knowing of them still may 
help us lead some others in the way. Or, if 
not lead, to show them of the dangers that 
are near. ’Tis an easy thing to go to the 
edge of a precipice and fall down — down — 
down — into some fearful abyss. But oh ! it’s 
a difficult thing to climb to the top again ! — 
even if life is left. A sad and painful thing,” 
she went on musingly, “that any man should 
want to feed yn hardened hearts and tarnished 
souls ! 


FoRGETMENOT. 


i6 5 

“Can’t our present Atheist, with all his 
shining intellect, coin his money in some 
other way ? Can’t he enjoy his daily bread 
without its seasoning of jeer, and being 
served in plates of Infidelity? Why does he 
accuse ‘the church’ of doing wrong, when 
he himself is 4 making orphans' day by day 
in the face of Time ! And again, if he 
desires to do so much of good — if in reality he 
would help his race — why does he not rise 
up in sober earnestness and freely give ? 
4 Freely receive, freely ye give!’ Let some 
one go and tell him, 4 To cast his bread upon 
the waters,’ and if it’s good, it will return in 
many days — or maybe, less than many. He 
will surely then have his ‘reward.’ And 
one that’s better than 4 fine gold ! ’ 

44 Let some one tell him this, because per- 
haps he’s never thought of it — Perhaps he’s 
never thought. Surely he would try it if he 
did?” 

44 1 don’t know,” answered Carlyle with a 
smile of incredulity, “your faith in that is 
rather more than mine. However, we will 
leave him for awhile, and see what Joseph 
Cook says of the Quaker. Is this the book ? 


io6 forgetmenot. 

(taking one from several, that were folded in 
the robe upon the grass.) Quakers are 
truthful I am told.” 

“Yes, that’s it (I thought it was in the 
tree) — ’tis not of Quakers that he writes. 
But, as you say, they’re truthful. I’ve known 
some, who were truthful and were good. 
And so, as he says, I think we can depend 
upon the Quaker gentleman, — whether he be 
preacher, or be otherwise. Now we’ll read 
and see. For this is what he says : 

“Among the theory of unimpeachable witnesses 
of Paine’s bestial condition in his last years, is the 
quiet, candid Quaker, Stephen Grellet; whose life 
was published in Philadelphia in i860, and repub- 
lished in London in 1861. He lived neighbor to 
Paine; and out of his journal, written in 1809, the 
very year Paine died, let me read you one extract. 
I might multiply citations by scores, but this is the 
most strategic passage in all that has been said : — ” 

“You see,” she stopped him to explain, 
“those are Mr. Cook’s remarks. Now, we 
have those of the Quaker gentleman. Go on, 
and read it well. For it is something that 
people ought to know — especially those who 
hold up the life of this poor Infidel, and put 
his writings in our hands to read. Surely 


FORGETMENOT. 


107 

people do not know what they are doing 
often-times — people who are old enough to 
be both good and wise. They surely do not 
realize,” she went on in an earnest way, well- 
fitting some good Sage, “the harm they 
often do, in what they say, and what they 
give to us ? ” 

“Has any one been tempting you, my 
Child ? ” he enquired, with paternal anxious- 
ness, and a touch of fire in his eye. 

“I’ve known some who’ve been tempted,” 
she replied, “and they suffered from it, only 
as our Heavenly Father knows.” 

And as she followed the words in thought, 
a look of painful sympathy o’erspread her 
countenance, and a shudder ran throughout 
her frame. 

“ But,” she said, looking toward him 
again, “ we must go on and read.” 

And so the reading continued — from the 
journal of Stephen Grellet. 

“I may not omit recording here the death of 
Thomas Paine. 

“A few days previous to nry leaving home on my 
last religious visit, on hearing that he was ill, and 
in a very destitute condition, I went to see him, and 
found him in a wretched state ; for he had been so 


FORGETMENOT. 


xo8 

neglected and forsaken by his pretended friends, 
that the common attentions to a sick man had been 
withheld from him. 

“The skin of his body was in some places worn 
off, which greatly increased his sufferings. A nurse 
was provided for him, and some needful comforts 
were supplied. 

“ He was mostly in a state of stupor; but some- 
thing that had passed between us had made such an 
impression upon him that, some time after my 
departure, he sent for me, and on being told that I 
was gone from home, he sent for another Friend. 
This induced a valuable young Friend, (Mary 
Roscoe,) who had resided in my family and con- 
tinued at Greenwich during a part of my absence, 
frequently to go and take him some little refresh- 
ment suitable for an invalid, furnished by a neigh- 
bor. 

“Once when she was there, three of his deistical 
associates came to the door, and, in a loud, unfeel- 
ing manner, said, ‘Tom Paine, it is said you are 
turning Christian; but we hope you will die as you 
have lived,’ and then went away. 

“On which, turning to Mary Roscoe, he said, 
‘You see what miserable comforters they are.’ 
Once he asked her if she had ever read any of his 
writings, and on being told she had read but very 
little of them, he inquired what she thought of them, 
adding, ‘From such a one as you, I expect a correct 
answer.’ She told him that when very young, his 
‘Age of Reason ’ was put into her hands, but that 
the more she read in it the more dark and distressed 
she felt, and she threw the book into the fire. 


FORGETMENOT. IO9 

“ ‘ I wish all had done as you,’ he replied; ‘ for 
if the Devil ever had any agency in any work, he 
has had it in my writing that book.’ When going 
to carry him some refreshments she repeatedly 
heard him uttering the language, ‘ O Lord,’ ‘ Lord 
God or, ‘ Lord Jesus, have mercy upon me ! * ” 

Thus endeth the extract from the diary, 
and with Mr. Cook’s permission, we will 
quote his words, which follow : 

“ God grant that mercy was shown him ! Let us 
show him mercy by remembering his patriotism, 
and forgetting his anti-Christianity; of no conse- 
quence now among scholars, and surely something 
that ought not to be of any consequence among the 
ten thousand half-educated young people and oper- 
atives who buy the paper-covered ‘Age of Reason,’ 
even yet, as if it were the last book on the infidel 
side. 

“Not far from Boston a man with gray hairs rose 
in a meeting where I was, the other day, and said 
that he had burned his Thomas Paine’s works, and 
his Voltaire’s Philosophical Dictionary, and that he 
had obtained more light from them in that way than 
in any other.” [Laughter.] 

When the book was closed, Alise said with 
simple earnestness : 

“ I am glad to know all this, — I thank Mr. 
Cook for telling it. Dreadful as it is, I am 


I IO 


FORGETMENOT. 


glad to know it all, and wish that I could tell 
him so.” 

Then, lifting the cover again, and with a 
more cheerful aspect she exclaimed : 

“ See here ! — No, read this first,” she added, 
with a little fallen countenance, “ this subject 
is not yet complete. This passage I forgot.” 

Then they returned to page 146, and read 
on in unison the thinker’s words. 

“There, you see again?” she said, point- 
ing to the line : 

“ It is true, that in the last weeks of his life, he 
was constantly calling out, ‘ O Lord, save me ! ’ ‘ O 

Christ, have pity on me ! ’ ” 

“And see further,” she continued, still lay- 
ing her finger on the page, “it all goes to 
prove the grand great truth ; although his 
sufferings had to pay the price.” 

And as she pointed to the words, he read 
them out to her, and to the towering trees as 
further witnesses. 

“ He could not bear to be left alone. Even in 
the high noon, he would shout so as to alarm the 
house, if left without some one near him. 

“There is evidence that his infidelity sowed the 
seeds of his bad habits.” 


FORGETMENOT. 


I I I 


44 Yes, yes,” she interrupted, 44 I believe so 
too. What else could have sowed the seeds 
for noxious weeds like those, and clinging 
poison-vines ? O, how they clung to his very 
last breath ! Not one pure, happy draught 
did they allow him. The very thought does 
make me shudder with a fear. 

44 But, Tve interrupted you. Please go on, 
and see the rest. You stopped at the words, 
4 bad habits.’ ” 

“Ay,” he said, resuming the page, — 

“ There is evidence of his infidelity sowing the 
seeds of such, just as the infidelity of Aaron Burr 
sowed the seeds of his habits. In Princeton, not 
long ago, I stood in a celebrated cemetery in an au- 
tumnal cyclone, and listened to the whistling of the 
wind over the grave of Jonathan Edwards, and that 
of Aaron Burr. Who can say that the career of 
Burr was not the natural outcome of his princi- 
ples— a systematic course of villainy? And who 
can say that Edwards’ career was not a natural out- 
come of his principles — a systematic course of 
virtues? I can understand that a man may be born 
with a dip of the needle that leads him astray 
among the storms of passion. 

“I have sympathy for those who are wrecked 
because of deep congenital difficulties.” 

Plere she interrupted again, saying : 

4 4 Does he mean 4 predestination * ? Does 


1 12 


FORGETMENOT. 


he mean that we are obliged to tread in the 
old tracks that our fathers made — even though 
they be not good? I hope not, — no, I think 
not. For, with a power of will we can surely 
break new roads — even though the drifts be 
high ! ” 

u One of your characteristic figures,” he 
remarked with deference, “and, fitting too. 
I agree. I do not think he means 4 predesti- 
nation.’ Shall we resume ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” she said, “ resume ; he shows 
the shining truth ; so that, did we not before, 
we now know which example to take. Here 
is the stitch we dropped, you see,” touching 
the word with her finger. 

“ Aaron Burr had these,” he read, “ and Thomas 
Paine had the same; but I presume neither of them 
had more terrific passions than Jonathan Edwards, 
or Franklin. And yet in the one case, we have 
lives glorious, and in the other, lives infamous.” 

“ Cousin,” she said as he closed the page, 
“ I’m glad that you have passions, you’d be 
nothing if you had not — but oh I I’m glad 
that you are master, and not they , Serfdom 
is a dreadful thing, even slavery in one’s 
self,” 


FORGETMENOT. 


IJ 3 

Then adding with another thought : 

“Obedience is one thing; but servitude is 
something else. The one always gives a 
cringing menial touch to character, the other 
makes it self-contained and noble ! ” 

She uttered the last word in triumph, and 
he responded by taking her in his arms. But 
she drew back and gently said : 

“ Please don’t.” 

He released his hold, replying : 

“You let me do so ’while ago. I thought 
I’d have no more of trouble,” looking at her 
archly. 

“ Oh, no, you take me unawares, when 
I’m not thinking — when my thoughts are way 
off somewhere else — lifted up, you know, so 
I can’t see what you are doing.” 

And smiling still, she added softly : 

“Don’t you know you’re 4 meek and 
lowly’?” 

“1 know the 4 lowly,’ 4 Daisy Deane,’ but as 
for ‘meek’ I will not vow.” 

Then as she withdrew her hand which he 
was about to take, he asked : 

“Am I to be your 4 slave,’ and mind you 
now ? ” 


FORGETMENOT. 


1 H 

“ No, not my slave,” rang out in repartee, 
“only 4 obedient ’ — don’t you see ? ” 

“Well, you’ll have a host of slaves some 
day, even if there is not one lying at your 
feet just now. Then what will you do? 
Make them serve obeisance, and mind what- 
ever you may say ? ” 

“No, no,” again she said, “not me — but 
teach them to themselves 4 obey ’ ! 

So there now, that’ll do, 

Pray drop the subject through. 

“ I’ve told you once, and told you well 
The all I had to say ; 

Poor little me, will never have 
A ‘ slave ’ to beg and pray. 

“And, if I had such pond’rous thing 
Upon some wond’rous day 
Why, I would lift his head aloft 
And say, ‘ To God you pray.’ ” 

“ But,” tossing her hand as if she meant 
the subject really to dismiss, 44 did you say 
you wished to see the little garden over there ? 
I’ll show you my Acrostic, and the flowers, 
all in one. For, you must know, it is as fra- 
grant as a single one of them. And, its per- 
fume will continue long after they have laid 


/i 


FORGETMENOT. 


”5 

their little heads in death. Do you know 
why? Because it has the fragrance of our 
Lord. It is a wreath of flowers, plucked 
from the Holy Scriptures — a wreath of For- 
get-me-nots” 

“And this is one of them,” he added, ten- 
derly laying his hand upon her. 

She did not seem to hear, and went on 
saying : 

“ But you will see for yourself. Just wait 
a little while.” 

****** 

Over the lawn they went, past the rockery, 
thence to the garden gate. 

As usual, he offered to take her up, but she 
objected, saying thoughtfully : 

“ There’re so many rough places in life 
which I need to be carried over, that I ought 
to walk wherever I can.” 

“But,” said he, not satisfied, “you are so 
light, it does not tire one to carry you, and it 
does tire me to see you walking thus — when 
my strong arms are wishing to bear you.” 

But still, she shook her head, till finally 
stopping her, and standing right in the way, 
he knelt before her, saying : 


ii6 


FORGETMENOT. 


“Please, Lovely — please?” so pleadingly, 
that she yielded a smiling assent, with tears 
of gratitude in her eyes. 

And smiling back, he lifted her, as gently 
as before, and bore her through the little gate 
all richly overarched, with apple boughs, la- 
bernum bush, and wildly running rose. 

“Now,” said he, looking around, “where 
shall the Robins settle ? ” 

“ Oh, on one of the garden-seats, there 
’neath the lilac bush, or, here ’neath the 
cherry tree,” she answered merrily. “You 
see there are two waiting ; take your choice, 
Kind-heart.” 

“Then I’ll choose ’neath the cherry tree; 
because the view is finer-r-not only over the 
garden, but the fields beyond. And too, from 
where we sit, you can point out each little 
flower as it grows. And tell me the history 
of each ; and tell me all of your favorites ? 
How bright and lovely it all is ! ” seating 
himself beside her, and glancing over the 
scene. “But stay, I forgot your robe, the 
seat is not quite easy.” 

And off he ran to bring it before she could 
even object. 


FORGETMENOT. 


Il 7 

After arranging her carefully, he resumed 
his place. But in a moment was down on 
the grass, resting his head on the seat beside 
her, and again admiring the plants and trees, 
tinged with the coloring of coming Fall. 

“Why don’t you get up? There’s lots of 
room,” she urged. 

“Thanks, I like this better. Then, too, 
perhaps you’ll sometimes smoothe my poor 
old head, if it stays close by. Lay your hand 
upon it now?” And taking the small white 
thing in his he placed it on his brow. 

But when his was gone, she began to with- 
draw her’s also, until he pleaded : 

“ Don’t ! ’Tis aching some, in truth ; and 
your dainty little hand has a healing, sooth- 
ing touch, of magnetism.” 

And so she left it there to smoothe away 
the pain, which was a pleasure ’mid such 
circumstance. 

Young men, do you envy him? Envy the 
sweet companionship of this frail little sister- 
friend ? 

“The flowers are beautiful,” he said. 
“Your garden is very sweet. And the tall 
rank grass bordering round about gives it a 


FORGETMENOT. 


I 18 

wild weird look, that reminds me of some- 
thing I’ve found. Shall we name this the 
little ‘Forsaken Garden’? It does not fully 
apply, because the Sea is not close by,” taking 
from his pocket a manuscript upon a colored 
sheet, “but still there seems to be a kindred 
spirit in the air betwixt the two. See for 
yourself,” and holding the paper before him, 
he recited, rather than read, the lines : 

“ In a coigne of the cliffs between lowland and high- 
land, ~ [lea, 

At the seadowns edge between windward and 
Walled round with rocks as an inland island, 

The ghost of a garden fronts the sea. 

A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses 
The steep square slope of the blossomless bed 
Where the weeds that grew green from the graves 
of its roses, 

Now lie dead. 

“ The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken, 

To the low, last edge of the long lone land — 

If a step should sound, or a word be spoken, 
Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest’s 
hand ? 

So long have the gray bare walls lain guestless; 
Through branches and briars, if a man make 
way, 

He shall find no life but the sea winds’, restless 
Night and day. 


FORGETMENOT. 


1 *9 


The dense hard passage is blind and stifled 
That crawls by a crack none turn to climb, 

To the straight waste place that the years have 
rifled [Time — 

Of all but the thorns that are touched not of 
The thorn he spares when the rose is taken ; 

The rocks are left when he wastes the plain. 
The wind that wanders, the weed, wind-shaken, 
These remain. 


Not a flower to be pressed of the foot that falls 
not ; 

As the heart of a dead man the seed-pods dry; 
From the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale 
calls not; 

Could she call, there were never a rose to reply. 
Over the meadows that blossom and wither 
Rings but the note of a sea-bird’s song; 

Only the sun and the rain come hither 
All the year long. 

The sun burns sere, and the rain dishevels 
One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath ; 
Only the wind here hovers and revels 
In a round where life seems barren as death. 
Here there was laughing — of old there was weep- 
ing, 

Haply of lovers none ever will know, 

Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping 
Years ago. 


120 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ Heart hand-fast in heart as they stood, ‘ Look 
thither,’ [to the sea; 

Did he whisper ? ‘ Look forth from the flowers 
For the foam-flowers endure when the rose- 
blossoms wither, 

And the love that loves lightly may die— but we?’ 
And the same wind sang, and the same waves 
whitened, 

And as ever the garden’s last petals shed ; 

In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that had 
lightened, 

Love was dead. 

“ Or, they loved their life through and then went 
— whither? [knows? 

And where, on to the end— but what end ? Who 
Love deep as the sea, as a rose may wither, 

As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose. 
Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love 
them ? 

What love was ever as deep as the grave ? 

They are loveless now as the graves above them, 
Or the wave. 

“ All are as one now, roses and lovers, 

Not known of the cliffs, and the fields, and the 
sea; 

Not a breath of the time that has been, hovers 
In the air now soft with a summer to be. 

Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons here- 
after [or weep, 

Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now 
When as they that are free now of weeping or 
laughter, 


We shall sleep. 


FORGETMENOT. 


I 2 1 


“ Here death may deal not again forever; 

Here change may come not till all change end. 
From the graves they have made they shall rise 
up never, 

Who have left naught living to ravage and rend. 
P2arth, stones, and the thorns of the wild ground 
growing, 

While the sun and the rain live, these shall be; 
Till a last wind’s breath upon all things blowing, 
Roll the sea. 

“ Till the slow sea rise, and the sheer cliff crumble, 
Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink, 
Till the strength of the waves the high tides 
humble, 

The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink, 
Here now in his triumph where all things falter, 
Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand 
spread, 

As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, 
Death lies dead ! ” 

****** 
As he closed the solemn refrain, handing 
her the paper, she echoed : 

“ Beautiful ! You wrote it?” 

“ No,” he said, “ I did not. I found it in 
The Graphic , and simply copied. Keep it 
if you like. It is a pretty thing — though 
does not apply to your possessions quite so 
much as I thought. But, see? we have the 


122 


FORGETMENOT. 


terrace ; and there, the rank grass, and the 
weeds beyond. And in a few short weeks 
after Jack Frost has been and gone, then 
we’ll have the withered branch and faded 
flower. 

“How beautiful is that carmine rose?” 
glancing his eye about. “Every blossom 
looks as though it had been dipped in blood. 
You’ve surely not been having here, the old- 
time 4 War of the Roses’ ? Will you give me 
a choice one for my button-hole ? ” 

“Yes, but I will choose a white one for 
you — here, this lovely bud.” 

And reaching out her hand, she plucked 
and fastened it on his coat. 

“A token of gratitude,” he said, pressing 
his lips upon her finger-tips. 

And, bending his head to inhale the per- 
fume, added : 

44 It is very sweet, and white, and fair — 
true emblem of the giver.” 

As usual, such praise she did not hear ; or, 
so accustomed to it, did not heed. However, 
it was plain, that praise, and love, and ad- 
miration, did not harm, or make her vain. 

Her only answer w^s ; 


FORGETMENOT. 1 23 

u I have a thought. Will you return home 
by the Village- way ? ” 

44 If you wish it — yes.” 
u Doctor Artemus is ill, and I would like 
to send him some sweet flowers. Why do 
you frown?” seeing his brow contracted. 

44 Because he is unworthy of your gift — or, 
thought.” 

u Cousin, you are harsh,” she answered. 
4 4 Why is he unworthy ? ” 

44 Simply because his life has not been one 
he should have led.” 

44 And are you not mistaken? ” 

44 Nay, surely I am not.” 

44 Would it, then, be wrong for me to thus 
remember him ? Even if he may have injured 
others, he has been good to me, and gentle ; 
and I would like to show him this attention, 
if it is not really wrong. And ” — hesitating, 
4 4 you will take them for me ? Perhaps — who 
knows ” — she went on saying softly, 4 4 these 
little flowers may turn his thoughts to God. 
Perhaps a single pure white rose may be his 
savior. Don’t you know the book called 
4 Picciola,’ where a flower growing on a prison 
W^ll turned an evil mind to God ? Not only 


H 


FORGETMENOT. 


this,” she went on musingly, “ redemption 
often comes through kindness, Brother mine ; 
and I would do e’en more — would go and see 
him, did I think he cared to have me. It 
could not, would not, do me harm ; and 
maybe, I could do to him a little good. How- 
ever, I must send the flowers. Will you 
take them? — if — it is not wrong?” askingly 
again. 

“I am convinced, my Daisy, and see that 
you are right. I’ll take your flowers will- 
ingly.” 

“ Thank you,” she said, while moving about 
culling the choicest ones, and arranging them 
for any eye, exquisitely. 

When seating herself to tie them well to- 
gether, at least to let him tie them with the 
string he had already in his hand, she said 
explainingly : 

u I’ve chosen mostly white, you see, and 
those that have a delicate perfume. Though 
now and then I’ve placed a brilliant one, to 
mean a bright thought, or a ray or hope. 
Do you approve ? ” 

“ Thoroughly,” he said complacently. 
“And what of these forget-me-nots? ” touch- 


FORGETMENOT. I 25 

ing the blue. 44 Do they imply, to think of 
you ? ” 

44 No, no. To think of blessings , and the 
One who sent them all.” 

44 Well, your emblem is a beauteous one, 
and token is most fair. I trust it may do 
good. I’ll lay them here where the grass is 
cool and damp and keep them fresh. And 
before I go, you must give me the message 
also. Though, perhaps, you’d better write a 
dainty note. It may be, that I cannot see 
him ; whereas, it would be sure to, when he 
was able, even if not now. I know what 
effect a note and a flower has on a poor sick 
man. Think you, I’ve forgotten your’s when 
I was lying on my bed at Cambridge ? ” 

44 Ay, you’ve brought the Acrostic now from 
out that mystic little pocket. Let us read.” 

As we’ve trespassed thus far on this sacred 
scene, maybe we may venture still. It can 
do no harm. And perhaps to some, it may do 
good. Their talk is innocent, and full of 
truth. And so we yet will beg to listen and 
to look on, with our spirit-eye. 

44 You know I said, it was from scripture,” 
she explained. 


126 


FORGETMENOT. 


“Yes.” he answered. 

“And from a precious friend.” 

“ I, too, remember that,” holding out his 
hand. “ Let me hold it; now you read; I 
want to hear you read it. Then I can tel 
better if it fits your life. Is it near enough? 
Rest your head on me.” 

And thus he drew her forward, and over 
the shoulder of her brother-friend, she read 
the beautiful language of the saints, with a 
voice subdued, yet thrilled with feeling and 
delight. 

“Abide in me and I in you; as the branch cannot 
bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine, 
no more can ye, except ye abide in me.” 

( 5 “/. John , xv : 4.) 

“ Let not your heart be troubled : ye believe in God, 
believe also in me.” 

(St. John, xiv : 1.) 

“ In the world ye shall have tribulation ; but be of 
good cheer. I have overcome the world.” 

(St. John, xvi : 33.) 

“ Seeing then that all these things shall be dis- 
solved, what manner of person ought ye to be, 
in all holy conversation and godliness.” 

(II Peter, iii : 10.) 

“ Even so Father; for so it seems good in Thy 
sight.” 


(St. Matthew, xi : 26.) 


FORGETMENOT. 


12 7 


Finishing, she reached her hand, and took 
it with the greatest care, and folded it back 
into its little home. 

“Now, is not Elaine good? Do you 
wonder that I call her 4 Elaine the Beautiful,’ 
4 Elaine the Fair’? She likes the name of 
Ruth, but I think her own is prettier, and 
especially when ’tis 4 Elaine the Fair.’ ” 

44 Why, Daisy, is she, then, so beautiful? ” 
“Not the prettiest face that I have ever 
seen ; but oh, her character, you should know 
that once ! You should know her charity and 
gentleness. And as for sympathy, why, her 
soul is made of it. I do believe that her vo- 
cation is to feel for and counsel those who are 
in trouble. O Brother, you must know her, 
and I hope the day will not be far. When I 
go to her again, why could you not go too? 
I know she would be glad to see you. Would 
you go ? ” 

44 1 should like to, Child. But you know 
the hard knocks I have soon to begin ? The 
very moment that my father’s health will do, 
you know I’ve got to fly, and settle some- 
where. He would have me stay, even after 
he has ceased to need — my services. But 


128 


FORGETMENOT. 


Duty — you know — that monitor who sits in 
a great big chair — kindly pointing — with the 
hand of Truth, the way to all. That friend 
has shown me I should go — and — make a — 
man ! Do you bid me stay ? ” 

u No,” she said, and sadly shook her head, 
“ I cannot.” 

“ And will you miss me? ” 

“ Miss you ! Well, you know I will,” she 
answered sadly still. 

“But,” he chimed in lightly, cheered by 
the assurance he’d be missed, “ I am not gone 
quite yet. And, for aught we know, my 
resting-place, nay, working-place, may be near 
your fair Elaine. If so, I’ll surely run down, 
if I then am asked. And, mind you, a little 
asking goes sometimes a wondrous way. Tell 
her to ask me. And tell her, too, that if she 
don’t, I’ll come like a great brigand and break 
in on your peaceful scene. Tell her that 
pirates are a dangerous crew, and oftentimes 
4 break through and steal.’ O Birdie, you had 
better warn her well, my appetite will then 
have grown both keen and sharp. Nay, warn 
her well ; ” now turning his head about, and 
playing once more with her hair, which he 


FORGETMENOT. 


129 


had drawn across her shoulder, 44 did you not 
say, she lived upon the water? Yes? Ah, I 
thought so. Then tell her to beware of 
pirates. You know I’ve got my little boat 
somewhere. What? will you draw those curls 
away again ? What makes you so contrary ?” 

She simply pushed away his hand — gently, 
but firmly pushed it aside, and tossed her 
tresses back. 

“Ah well, I’ll go behind you then.” 

And over the seat he sprang, and lay on the 
grass there laughing. 

44 If a cat can look at a king, I should think 
a — what ? could look at a Queen ? ” and, con- 
tinuing, “I too, would 4 know you by your 
hair,’ your beautiful hair, did he say? ” 

44 Carly,” she asked in much surprise, 
44 what do you mean? who did you hear say 
that?” 

44 Why, Mr. Falkner, Child. Did I not 
see him bend and speak to you, and hear just 
what he said? Now,” he went on teasingly, 
44 that little color need not rise up in your 
face. It was so, and is so, yet. And if old 
gentlemen salute you thus, why can’t we — 
poor younger ones admire too ? ” 


i3° 


FOllGETMENOT. 


Seeing he had his way she answered laugh- 
ingly : 

4 4 Come away from behind there now ! 
What have you done, that you must hide 
yourself ’way out of sight, like that? Come, 
I want to look you in the face and tell you, 
that listeners sometimes hear some dreadful 
things — about themselves ,” throwing her 
voice in the last word. 44 And if you stay 
there, you’ll be sorry, mind ! ” 

44 With such a warning I will flee at once,” 
he said, and rose up laughingly, and came 
and knelt before her ; and with a profound 
low bow, continued: 44 My Lady, you have 
won the day ! Is this little volume something 
else for me ? What ! more things from that 
unfathomed pocket ? ” 

44 No, thank you, it is not for you. It too 
is Elaine’s gift. My precious little 4 Gold 
Dust ! ’ ” holding it closely in her hand, and 
adding, 44 When you are sober once again, 
you may look, and read ; for it is beautiful. 
But stay, not now. You are not good enough 
just yet. Do penance first.” 

44 What shall I do ? O, please! I’m awfully 
good,” he said, 44 and won’t do so ever again 


FORGETMENOT. 


(till next time) ” adding softly. But seeing 
her hide it still, he begged again with a face 
all straight. 

“ Really and truly I won’t make light of 
your treasure. You know a man's curiosity 
is a funny thing. When once it is aroused it 
grows bigger and bigger like an awful swell- 
ing, and there’s no way of easing it save by 
the very right remedy — to tell him what he 
wants to know. There now, ease me, won’t 
you, please? I’m suffering.” 

44 Suffering does people good,” she replied, 
half in gravity and half in play. 

And when he looked incredulous, she went 
on earnestly : 

44 Yes, it really does. I know, because 
people say so ; and know still better, because 
I’ve seen. And, Carlyle,” laying her hand 
on his arm, 44 were it not for pain the world 
would not be half so beautiful. There would 
be no resignation, gentleness and faith, such 
as the world has now. Don’t you see? the 
human picture would not have the light and 
shade, and hence would not be perfect — not 
be half so beautiful. Every painter makes 
the lights and shades upon his work ; there- 


i3 2 


FORGETMENOT. 


fore, the Great Painter, God, would have 
His landscape perfect, and so He makes 
the human picture with it’s lights and 
shades. And so He brings in sorrow, to 
make the shadow-side, and love of Him, to 
bear it. And so He brings in joy, to make 
the flitting sunlight over all, and love of Him 
to bear it too. For you know, Brother,” she 
added with conviction in her tone, “Pros- 
perity is oft-times harder to bear than Ad- 
versity. I fancy, as many fall whilst wearing 
Prospers shining crown, as are weighted down 
by the anchor of Adversity. Don’t you think 
so?” 

“ I doubt not for a moment,” he replied, 
and then again was silent. 

“ Why are you so absorbed? ” she asked. 
“ Do you not like this theme ? You have lost 
your voice quite. Are you then, displeased ? ” 

“No, no” he spoke with rousing empha- 
sis. I’m listening to your words, and deeply 
feel absorbed in the thoughts they carry. And 
am taking a note of something else beside.” 

“And what is the c something else ’?” she 
asked at once. 

“ Only a little evidence to help to win my 


FORGETMENOT. 


*33 


‘ case.’ You tell me that you cannot write. 
I wonder would you say, you cannot talk ? ” 

“ Talk,” she answered softly, “Oyes,Ioften 
talk unto my friends, for that is only think- 
ing out aloud. And my brain is all so busy 
with its thoughts, I have to let them out — 
have to spill them on my friends,” she added 
smiling, “ so as to hear what they would say, 
and have them help me out with some of my 
favorite ones. Don’t you see?” 

“Yes, I see — ‘see clearly, said the little 
man,’ and see clearly something else. Why, 
let me ask, is it harder to write your thoughts 
than to talk them?” 

“ It isn’t harder to write them to my friends. 
But, I can’t talk them to any but my friends,” 
she said, with an anxious pleading coming in 
her eyes. “Cousin, you’re going to try to 
make me write , when I have nothing that’s 
worth writing.” 

“Ay, Little One, you’re partly right and 
partly wrong. I’m not only going to try , but 
will succeed in making you write. This, you 
see, is my first ‘ case ’ ; and, since the cause 
is good, I’ll never give it up, you may depend 
on that. ‘ Win,’ is my motto, and the only 


x 34 


FORGETMENOT. 


one. So, instead of pulling back, you may 
as well join in, and help me with a will. It 
is not only to help you in your great desire — 
not only to bring to life your darling aspira- 
tions ; but there are many reasons linked to- 
gether in a chain ; and among the many are 
my own ambition and my pride. Think you 
not I would be proud to have a little sister- 
authoress ? Think you not my own ambition 
would rejoice to see your little banner of Suc- 
cess floating in the air? — floating with the 
stars and stripes, in our own free land, and 
others, far away? Nay, nay, I’m full of it. 
You’ve asked my counsel, and I give it, with- 
out price. Give it, and mean to 4 win’ ! and 
all your legal friends combined cannot even 
shake me in my course. Do you hear? and 
t do you heed ? ” 

44 Oh I hear, and would that I could heed,” 
she uttered with vehement earnestness beneath 
her breath. 44 But — but, I can't. I know 
nothing worthy to be written. There is no 
one who’d care to read. There is no pub- 
lisher in the land who’d even try my work. 
And oh ! the bitter disappointment then ! ” 
she uttered with a groan. ’Tis better, far bet- 


FORGETMENOT. 


*35 


ter, Brother dear, to let it die as it was born 
— in silence. Let my little Aspiration go to 
sleep in silence, with only a few dear friends 
to bear the pall, and fill the grave ! I’m sure 
’tis better so. I would not have the strength 
to bear the rest. The disappointment would 
be bitter ; the cruel neglect and slights that 
my little treasure would receive, did it even 
find its way in print, would hurt me sore. O 
Brother, it is dear to me — the Aspiration, 
a page already written here and there — yes, it 
has grown so dear to me, I could not bear 
the pain of seeing it abused, — by hands of 
rudeness, and by hearts of stone. ’Tis better, 
ay, far better thus, I’m sure. Pray let it die in 
peace.” 

And, with her final words, there seemed to 
come a piteous wail. 

She looked up at him wistfully, and sadly, 
while the tears were standing in her earnest 
eyes, and waited for his quick, though clear 
and kind reply. 

4 4 Child,” he said, 44 you are full of earnest 
and conviction, and were I not so sure, so very 
sure of my own ground, I’d be obliged to 
yield. But, Little Sweetheart, / am sure /” 


136 


FORGETMENOT. 


and he caressed her gently. 44 You must not 
only let me, but help me to have my way, 
and the day will come that you too will re- 
joice. Am I not right? now tell me.” 

44 Oh, I would be so hafi^y — if” she 

said. 

44 But,” she added, still in doubt and hope, 
44 I’m sure it cannot be. Your kindness and 
your efforts will all be spoilt, and lost. Pray 
let it die in peace.” 

44 I cannot, and I must not; nay, I will 
not, Alise. You will find me firm and fast. 
And all the while I see, not only for myself, 
but you, something bright and beautiful be- 
yond. Look ! do you not see the gorgeous 
coloring e’en now? Make a spirit-picture 
quickly for your eye, while I am busy with 
the 4 ways and means.’ I want you to simply 
write exactly as you talk. That, and nothing 
more.” 

44 But I can’t talk to strangers,” she de- 
murred. 

k4 Strange, I’ve seen you at it.” 

44 Yes, but I mean really talk. I’ve talked 
to them a little, when they’ve sometimes 
talked to me. Because, you see, I had to, 


FORGETMENOT. 


*37 


from politeness. And, too, there is one other 
reason,” and she spoke it softly. 44 I cannot 
bear to have them notice my affliction. I 
know -of it, and that’s enough — I am so sensi- 
tive. And so I talk a little sometimes — force 
myself to talk a little, just to keep them from 
it. From looking at me, I mean; and to get 
them to talking about interesting things. If 
you ever notice, you will see that I can say 
but little to a stranger. I mostly listen, that 
is all. Believe me, will you? ” 

44 Yes, I believe you. And yet I’ve seen 
them listening to you earnestly, and heard 
allusions, too, to what you’ve sometimes said. 
So the 4 little ’ that you speak of, has been, it 
seems, worth hearing. Those who’ve never 
seen you, up to the time alluded to, have found 
it so. So 4 take heart,’ Child, take heart 
from what I say, even though you’re spell- 
bound with surprise. And, as to your afflic- 
tion, as I’ve said before, you must not think 
of that. It beautifies you more than aught 
else it can do. I speak the truth. So pray 
now let that painful thought outspread its 
wings, and fly — forever ! And believe me 
once again, if persons look, ’tis only in your 


FORGETMENOT. 


t 38 

eyes, and on your peaceful, restful, sunny 
face! And, you must grant them that. Do 
you hear ? ” he added as he gently smoothed 
her hand. 

44 I hear,” she answered softly, 44 but think 
that you must be mistaken. There is nothing 
in my face, and eyes, that people care to see. 
I’m only a pale-faced child.” 

4 4 Ay, that, and more, much more beside,” 
he assented tenderly. And, you have no cause 
for grief. Believe me now — believe your 
Brother — will you not?” 

44 I’ll try” again she answered softly. 

44 Good! Good motto!” he exclaimed. 
u Keep that till the end, — that 4 Try* And 
now,” he continued with pleased confidence, 
and still persuasively, 4 4 you must put away 
a little of your shyness — just a little — and in 
its stead, take on a little confidence. That 
is, you must feel that you will be successful. 

Will success to crown your work. Then, 
you will write with greater confidence — will 
have more power in your pen, and influence 
with your readers.” 

44 But how can I feel this, when it don’t 
exist?” she queried. 44 1 have not the least 


FORGETMENOT. 


*39 


of faith that anyone will even care to read. 
So you see, there is nothing to build my ‘con- 
fidence * upon. Therefore, nothing to draw 
my thoughts. That is the trouble always — 
every time I take my pen, save in writing let- 
ters, or, perhaps when comes sometimes a 
thought, that will have utterance either in 
verse, or otherwise.” 

“And, how do you then? Do you keep 
on thinking then ‘ Will anybody read’ ? ” 

“ No ; in that case, in times like that, the 
worry never comes to me — I think not of the 
publisher or reader, or anything in the world 
but just the thought I’m writing — the thought 
that will have utterance when once it is pre- 
sented — has formed itself within my brain. 
And, until I write it down I have no peace, 
even if it be away in the dead of night.” 

“And how do you do in times like that?” 
he asked. 

“Why, I take my pencil which sleeps 
upon my bed, and write it off, and then I 
fall to sleep.” 

“A good symptom — excellent, Alise. And, 
in a little while, this same spirit will take 
possession of you — will fill your mind en- 


I40 FORGETMENOT. 

tirely ; and you will never think again of 
reader, or what-not. Take my word for it, 
all you need is a little practice, and a little 
patience, and a little — no, a big confidence ; 
and I assure you, all will soon be well. At 
any time, and on any theme, you’ll find the 
thoughts to flow with ease and fluency. 
Even now, how is it with your letters ? Do 
you find them hard to fill? Hanway’s, for 
instance, do you write him very short ones?” 
a little anxious look upon his face. 

“ No,” she said with a slight tinge rising 
on her own, “they are always long — too 
long. I often am ashamed to send them.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because they are so long, it seems some- 
times as if I’ll never stop.” 

“ And does he think them 4 long — too long,’ 
as you are pleased to call them ? ” 

“ No, he does not say so, but I often feel 
as if he must surely think so.” 

“ Do you ask him ? ” 

“Yes, I ask him, and still he will not say 
so. He is too polite.” 

“ Yes, he is polite. But, I would pity the 
manners of a fellow, and the taste also, who 


FORGETMEXOT. 


I 4 I 

did not appreciate the time spent by a child- 
friend in writing him a letter, and especially 
such letters as I know you send to him. But, 
you have not told me yet how it is you have 
such flow of thought? Is it only to him, or 
are others favored so? You see I want to 
know the 4 why/ and 4 wherefore,’ in a profes- 
sional way, of course,” he added archly. 

“Well, I write at length to a few, a very few 
beside him. Elaine is one,” she added, search- 
ing through her thoughts. 

“And how, pray, can you write so much 
to him, when as you say you’ve never seen 
him but the once, and would not know him, 
did you meet him suddenly to-day?” 

“Did I say, I would not know him? I 
forgot his picture,” — smiling coyly. 

“ His picture, eh? you have that too? Ah 
yes, I recollect that you’ve had mine. Or, is 
it another 4 convict cut,’ he has sent to you ? ” 

“Indeed, it has not that short hair, you 
may depend. I would not have it so. And 
waited and waited a long time till he would 
let it grow,” she uttered with some tittle 
triumph in her tone. 

44 And did he let it grow, and send it? I 
mean both.” 


142 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ Oui , Monsieur , he did it all; and it is 
manly, and I like it ! ” 

1 4 And, why am I so out of favor, as never 
to have seen this wondrous picture?” 

“ Oh, because, because,” she sang out 
teasingly, “ I don’t show you everything .” 

“ But stay,” he said, as he bit his lip, 
“before you’re off again on one of those 
merry moods, tell me, soberly, why is it you 
can write so much to one single person, to him 
for instance? This, you see, is an important 
factor in your work.” 

“ I often wonder ‘ why,’ myself,” she said 
in seriousness; “and still, I cannot write, 
when I think of print. It is a curious thing, 
and I have often thought upon it. This, or 
these, are the only reasons I can find. First, 
I know that a friend will find some little in- 
terest in what I have to say. And, secondly, 
this friend, Mr. Hanway, is so responsive. 
He has such a world of beautiful thoughts 
himself. He invites the thoughts in me — he 
teaches me. Yes, he educates me, and has 
done so from the very first. Though I don’t 
suppose he knows it. He doesn’t seem to. 
x\nd he is not flattered when I say so. At 


FORGETMENOT. 1 43 

least, it only makes him humble, and not 
vain. 

“Indeed, Carly, his letters are beautiful 
literary productions, and full of strength be- 
side. Even were he not my friend, I should 
like to read them. His descriptions are just 
perfect ; and so plain that I can see the 
whole. If I could paint such pictures with 
my pen, my fortune would be made. I 
would then have this great 4 confidence ’ that 
I so much need. 

u Yes, Mr. Han way is a writer. And 
were he not a lawyer — such a lawyer as he is, 
and destined more to be — he should be an 
author by profession. His vocations are not 
only one, but two. I wonder does he prize — 
rightly prize — his talents, and feel rightly 
grateful for them? I must ask him some 
day — I must really ask, and tell him that he 
should,” she mused aloud. But, recollecting 
where they’d been in conversation, she re- 
turned, and said : 

u Now, you want to know the other rea- 
son — last but not least — oh, no, not least. 
Here is the great bug-bear. I think of publish- 
ers as being awful Ogres — Hobgoblins, if you 


H4 


FORGETMENOT. 


will — that, did I have a book all ready for 
the press I should be afraid to seek one — be 
afraid to even try. Now, if I had a friend 
who was a publisher, that would be a splendid 
thing — a ‘Mr. Southey,’ don’t you see? It 
would be lovely. But as it is, I am afraid. 

I would not dare to venture — even did I know 
the how to do it. I know the world is 
flooded with poor, poor efforts, simply trash. 
And with all of this, the publishers are tor- 
tured and tormented. And, mine might be 
as poor as some of those poor out-casts. 

“ But aside from all of this, those men are 
cross — I’m sure that they are cross, and so I 
am afraid of them. 

“ So there ! Now, don’t you see?” 

“Yes, of course I see, as usual. But, I 
have told you, I would meet ‘ these Ogres,’ 
as you are pleased to call them. And don’t 
that clear the way ? ” 

“It clears it some,” she said, “and takes 
away the scare. But then I know that you’ 
will fail in finding one, because ” — 

He raised his finger warningly with — 
“Don’t say that again. I don’t want 
water, or ‘ wet blankets ’ thrown upon my 


FORGETMENOT. 


H5 


scheme, my Little Pet. I want the way all 
smooth and fair. And, if you have anything 
to strew, throw flowers in the path. Come, 
Hopeful ! plant your roses, and your sweetest 
lilies on the way. And bring too, the 4 Star 
of Bethlehem,’ and blue 4 Forgetmenot.’” 

44 I will try,” she said, 44 but can not promise 
much.” 

44 All I want is, that you 4 try ’ ; and bring 
with it, sweet 4 Submission.’ See here, 
this beauteous little piece, where did you find 
it, pray ? another 4 gem ’ for your collection ? 
will you read?” 

44 No, you;” placing it in his hand. “You 
see my poetess has come again ? and I was 
pleased to find it.” 

44 Ah, I see. Miss Wheeler little knows 
what an ardent friend she has right here.” 
And tossing himself on the grass he read 
again. 


“ SUBMISSION. 

“ Whatever I need in the way of trial 

I’m willing to meet ; for the hand of pain 
Holds the human heart like an unstrung viol, 
And tightens it up for a finer strain. 


146 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ Whatever is best for my soul’s shaping 
I want should come, I am not afraid ! 

I make ho petition for ways of escaping, 

But only for courage, and spirit aid. 

“ Tho’ the quivering depths of pain are sounded, 
The storm may teach me the worth of calm, 
And I want my life to be full and rounded, 

As if it weie molded in God’s great palm. 

“ I would grasp the best of this brief existence, 

And I have lived long enough now to know 
That it must be earned by the soul’s resistance, 

By loss, temptation, and blinding woe. 

“ So I welcome pain as my friend and master, 

And I walk with him thro’ sorrowing nights; 
And in the dawn after each disaster 

I find I am nearer the shining heights.” 

As he handed it back she said : 

“ How apropos. This bears on our sub- 
ject, doesn’t it? Now read this,” handing him 
a tiny slip. “The two seem fitting, one to 
the other. I do not know of this Henrietta 
R. Elliot, but I do like what she says. Now 
will you read ‘The Unwelcome Guest’?” 
she continued, touching the lines as he pro- 
ceeded, 


FORGETMENOT. 


HI 


“ When Grief shall come to thee, 

Think not to flee, 

For Grief, with steady face, 

Will win the race ; 

Nor crowd her forth with Mirth, 

For at thy hearth, 

When Mirth is tired and gone, 

Will Grief sit on. 

But make of her thy friend, 

And in the end 
Three lovelier than she 
Will come to thee — 

Calm Patience, Courage strong, 

And Hope — ere long.” 

“ Oh, just see ! ” she exclaimed, “ Is it not 
strange how many thoughts run in the same 
sweet channel? To me it seems all wonder, 
ful. And see, oh see? ” again she cried 
“ right here in this very paper is about Miss 
Cunningham . At least about Mount V ernon , 
and her work with it. How fortunate that 
you still were here. Please read it right 
away. Have you grown tired ? ” handing 
him the paper. 

u Not in the least,” he said, politely taking 
it. 

And thus we give it for the benefit of all 
Americans. 


148 


FORGETMENOT. 


“MT. VERNON. 

“ At the time of Washington’s death, the estate on 
which his house was situated comprised several 
thousand acres, divided into various farms. The 
mansion, built of wood, two stories in height, and 
ninety-six feet in length, is beautifully situated 
on rising ground, and commands a fine view of 
the Potomac. Near by is the old family vault, in 
which his body was first laid, and also the new 
vault, to which it was removed in 1830. The man- 
sion was built by Washington’s elder brother, who 
named the estate after Admiral Vernon, under whom 
he had served in the West Indies ; but it was 
greatly improved and enlarged by Washington him. 
self, whose home it was from his boyhood until his 
death. It subsequently passed into the hands of a 
nephew, and was offered for sale in the public 
papers. 

“ A younglady, named Ann Pamela Cunningham, 
then prostrated by spinal disease, read with agiowing 
heart the advertisement, and, filled with indignation 
at the thought of the sacred spot falling into the 
hands of strangers, who would, perchance, make of 
it a mere place for curious gazing, amusement, and 
mercenary gain, she formed, alone and unaided, the 
grand project of influencing the women of America 
to purchase Mt. Vernon, and secure to the country 
the home and the tomb of one whom all true Amer- 
icans must forever delight to honor and revere. 

“ Following out in close practical action the work- 
ings of her mind, she wrote earnest appeals to pri- 


FORGETMENOT. 


H9 


vate individuals, and through the public press to 
her countrymen at large, to induce them to raise 
funds for the worthy object she had at heart. 

“Many noble responses were made, the most effi- 
cient of which was that of Edward Everett, who 
raised, by his eloquent appeals, the sum of $80,000 
toward this worthy object. 

“ Gradually these efforts culminated in success, and 
the whole enterprise was placed upon a permanent 
basis. 

“The mansion, the tomb, and some two hundred 
acres of the original estate were purchased by the 
“ Ladies’ Mount Vernon Association ; ” and a fund 
was established for the purpose of keeping it in 
order.” 

“ Oh, I am so glad ! ” she cried in ecstacy. 
“ And now the next thing will be to find and 
read this wonderful address that did such 
mighty work. Will you help me seek it 
out?” 

“Most certainly, with pleasure. And at 
the same time, aid myself, as well as you. 
I have long wished to see it. And now with 
your help,” he said most courteously, “ I 
will certainly find it. You have such a way 
of finding things, you know. Together we 
will search, and if it be> in print, we’ll surely 
have it.” 


FORGETMENOT. 


I 5° 

“ Oh, quick,” she said, 44 read this? ” taking 
her glancing eye from the paper which she 
was running over as she listened to him. 
44 It is too sweet.” 

And so he read from 44 Lucy Blinn, 

“ A LEGEND OF THE DEWS. 

“ Earth had no dews until a baby died — 

A dimpled, fair-faced baby, whose dear eyes 
Peeped through the swinging gates of Paradise, 
And, seeing wondrous treasures scattered wide, 
Sought them with fruitless grasp and home-sick 
cries ; 

And when the eager trembling little hand 
Wearied in reaching for the luring things, 
Fluttered and folded— like the drooping wings 
Of Noah’s dove, sent out to find the land, 

Where no land was— then angles wept their woe 
For the sweet, sealed lids, and cheeks of snow ; 

And all their rueful tears the zephyrs bland 
Gathered in dainty cups of moonlight hue 
To break on babie’s graves in showers of dew !” 

44 Lucy has a sweet and lovely thought — 
so fragrant.” she commented, musingly. 
4 4 Dear little babies ! To think that was how 
the 4 dews ’ were made. It is nice to think 
of ; and I am glad .to borrow her sweet 
thought. Perhaps she has a dainty little one 


FORGETMENOT . 


I 5 I 

to call her own? Anyhow,” now smiling 
playfully, “ I know she’s been a baby — and, 
too, in ‘ Paradise.’ But just see here?” 
she said again, glancing on the paper, then 
adding in an undertone, “I might not have 
gotten this paper read at all had you not come. 
But, really,” dropping her repartee, “ I 
enjoy it ever so much more, to have you read 
it with me. Are you sure you are not tired ? ” 
looking up with inquiry. 

“Never fear, ‘Little Charmer,’ not in the 
least.” 

“Well, then, this last piece is historical, 
and full of interest. Now just see for your- 
self ? ” handing him the sheet, with her finger 
at the place. 

“Out loud,” she said, “out loud,” you 
know that’s part of the bargain.” 

“ A few days since,” it ran, “ in the work 
of making some holes for planting trees 
around the new fort constructed outside the 
Porta San Lorenzo, in Rome, a fine statue 
of Apollo, i metre 80 centimeters in height, 
was discovered, in a good state of preserva- 
tion.” 

“ There now ! ” she exclaimed, “just sup- 


152 FORGETMENOT. 

pose we had found it. Then we’d have had 
a god to preside over all our poesy. Don’t 
you wish we had ? ” 

“ Ay, ay, I wish it much. But, Little 
Lady, Apollo presides over music; and you 
disclaim the fact that you can sing, or strike 
the viol, or the harp.” 

“And I exclaim the truth,” she said. 

“ But, sir, you are mistaken. This heathen 
god has many avocations, if you please. 
And poesy is one.” 

“ I must demur, pray let me do 
This, one time, Little Sage, 

And grant to me this single once, 

That Beauty yields to Age. ” 

“No 1 you must yield,” she softly said, 

“ Because you are so soft ; 

I’ve seen these little tender spots 
About you, oft , and oft ! 

“Now do not look so grave and sad ; 

Have I pushed hard on one ? 

Cheer up, cheer up, now smile again, 

And you shall see the sun. 

“ No, I don’t mean the great sun there set- 
ting in the west,” taking his head between 
her hands, and turning it as she spoke, “ but 


FORGETMENOT. 


J 53 


the son of Jupiter, don’t you know, Apollo? 
Didn’t I tell you, just owe little minute gone, 
that he reigns over poesy? Now here’s the 
proof — Mr. Lawyer — here’s the proof” 

“Yes, proof,” he said, “as you may think, 
But you’re mistaken just the same ; 

And if I find that I am wrong 
I’ll give to you my name.” 

“Your name, your name?” she laughingsaid, 
“ I do not want your name ; 

Nor, do I want your coming years ; 

Nor, do I want your fame. 

“ I have a name all of my own, 

Which people call, ‘ Alise,’ — 

Now get that book from yonder tree, 

And look well, if you please?” 

“ Then, stay a minute, yet,” said he, 

“And you shall have my heart ?” 

“ Your heart ? ” she cried in teasing jest, 

“ Why that, would leave a smart. 

“ Or else, or else, you are so smart 
That you won’t look and see ; 

I tell you, Sir, the book I want 
Is under yonder tree. 

“Apollo’s singing with his harp, 

Pray haste, and let us see 
The who is right, the who is wrong, — 

If wrong, I’ll yield to thee.” 


*54 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ And, will be mine?” he 6oftly said , 

And pressed4ier dainty hand, 

“ Nay, not exactly that, kind Sir, 

But, truihing , I will stand,” 

drawing her hand deftly away. 

“ Then, if you shun my name, and heart, 
And stamp them on the ground,” 

(taking a stick and writing his name on the 
nearest bed, with a heart drawn under it) 

“ I’ll run and fetch the book you want, 

And see what can be found.” 

And as he goes, she sings out softly in 
sweet tones : 

“ Oh, you have lost, and you will lose 
Your reputation fine — 

If you depend on gods of earth — 

Nay, seek the One Divine ! ” 

However, he brought the book — Mythol- 
ogy — and together they searched among its 
pages. 

“ There ! ” she said, smiling into his eyes 
as they read the words, “ The god of music ; 
poetry ; eloquence ; medicine ; and the fine 
arts.” 


FORGETMENOT. 


55 


“ I give up,” he cried, “ I’m conquered.” 

“ And want to be cured and healed? ” she 
asked, reaching over and plucking a balsam 
from the pales behind, and bruising it gently 
on his lips, saying as she did so : 

“These ‘two-lips’ must be less positive 
next time.” 

And then to him : 

“ Here, I will put the rest in your pocket, 
to be convenient, if you need it any more.” 

Although she assumed gravity, with a 
sister-of-charity look, the corners of her sen- 
sitive mouth would twitch, as she gave the 
pocket a final pat. 

Again she lifted the paper from the grass, 
and'in an instant burst her merry laugh. 

“ That is the way,” she said, “you men do 
kick on the new shoes just like that, and 
bloom in the face, just like that too. I 
remember once I saw a pair put on, and it was 
funny.” 

But, see the sequel, here?” he added, 
taking the paper from her. “Listen to this. 
Well I’ll read it all. For it’s too good to 
pass.” 

“When a woman has a new pair of shoes sent 
home she performs altogether different from a man. 


FORGETMENOT. 


* 5 6 

“ She never shoves her toes into them and yanks 
and hauls until she is red in the face and out of 
breath, and then goes stamping and kicking around ; 
but pulls them on part way carefully, twitches them 
off again to take a last look and see if she has got 
the right one; pulls them on again, looks at them 
areamingly, says they are just right, then takes 
another look, stops suddenly to smooth out a 
wrinkle, twists around and surveys them sideways ; 
exclaims, ‘Mercy, how loose they are;’ looks at 
them again square in front, works her feet around 
so they won’t hurt her quite so much, takes them 
off, looks at the heel, the toe, the bottom, and the 
inside, puts them on again, walks up and down the 
room once or twice, remarks to her better-half, that 
she won’t have them at any price, tilts down the 
mirror so she can see how they look, turns in every 
possible direction, and nearly dislocates her neck 
trying to see how they look from that way, backs 
off, steps up again, takes thirty or forty farewell 
looks, says they make her feet look awful big, and 
will never do in the world, puts them off and on 
three or four times more, asks her husband what he 
thinks about it, and pays no attention to what he 
says, goes through it all again, and finally says she 
will take them. It is a very simple matter indeed.” 

4 ‘There!” he ejaculated, throwing his 
head back and laughing immoderately. 4 4 The 
tables are turned, and you will have to admit 
the thing is capital” And then he burst 


FORGETMENOT. 


157 


forth again, saying, with a comical air, “You 
may as well join me. But of course you 
don’t do that way — it is only married ladies, — 
and,” adding mischievously, “ maybe a few 
young ones, who live far off.” And again 
glancing down, “It is too natural and life- 
like. Alise, do smile?” 

“Indeed I sha’n’t,” she retorted, all the 
while twinkling with appreciation. “And 
as for you, Mister, ar’n’t you ^shamed to be 
so ungallant ? I thought you were a knight 
of old ? ” 

“Beg pardon, Madamoiselle ; did you say 
it was 4 old ladies’ who had such trouble with 
their pedestals? ” 

“No, I said nothing of the kind. And 
more, don’t you know that ladies never grow 
old?” 

“Ah indeed, what then? Die first? Dye 
their tresses, I suppose you mean ? ” 

“But really and truly, Carlyle,” she 
objected, “you shall not talk this way, even 
in fun. I know you don’t mean to make 
light of women, and you must not even seem 
to.” 

And as she really seemed to be a trifle hurt, 
he yielded at once, replying : 


•58 


FORGETMENOT. 


“You are exactly right; I would not raise 
a breath against your sex ; I revere them far 
too much. What have you now?” 

“A lovely piece, entitled, ‘The Bloom of 
Age.’ And after that, something else funny 
for you to laugh about. But, read this first,” 
placing it in his hand. “It is so true — at 
least, I think so.” 

“A good woman never grows old. Years may 
pass over her head, but if benevolence and virtue 
dwell in her heart, she is as cheerful as when the 
spring of life first opened to her view. When we 
look upon a good woman, we never think of her 
age ; she looks as charming as when the rose of 
youth first bloomed upon her cheek. 

“That rose has not faded yet; it will never fade. 
In her neighborhood she is the friend and bene- 
factor. Who does not respect and love the woman 
who has passed her days in acts of kindness and 
mercy — whose whole life has been a scene of kind- 
ness and love, and a devotion to truth? No; such 
a woman cannot grow old. She will always be 
fresh and bouyant in spirit, and active in humble 
deeds of mercy and benevolence. If girls desire to 
retain the bloom and beauty of youth, let them not 
yield to the sway of fashion and folly; let them love 
truth and virtue ; and to the close of life they will 
retain those feelings which now make life appear a 
garden of sweets, ever fresh and ever new.” 


FORGETMENOT. 


59 


“Exactly so,” he said, “exactly so. I 
agree with every word. It is a picture from 
life.” 

“I wonder if I will keep my ‘bloom?’” 
she uttered in an absent dreamy way. 

“You surely will” — he said with confi- 
dence, “you surely will.” 

“I wonder?” she mused again, in wistful 
earnestness. 

Again raising the valued sheet, he now re- 
marked : 

“An excellent piece this, on ‘The Art of 
Thinking.’ The writer knows of what he 
speaks. The object of the teacher,” as he 
truly says, “is to teach to think.” 

“ The pupil thinks enough, but he thinks loosely, 
incoherently, indefinitely, and vaguely. He expends 
power enough on his mental work, but it is poorly 
applied. The teacher,” — 

Here he interrupted, saying, “The real 
teacher, and not the make-believe, as we so 
often see. People who try to govern and teach 
children , before they can govern and teach 
themselves ; and then wonder in great dismay 
why it is they always fail. If they would 
only for one moment look within, I think 


1 60 FORGETMF.NOT . 

they would learn the reason why. And learn 
a lesson too.” 

“Why,” she cried, “you are severe.” 

u Maybe a little so,” he answered, “yet, 
quite just. For, Child, I’ve seen such people 
by the score. But where is our place ? Here,” 
resuming : 

“ The teacher points out to him these indefinite 
or incoherent results, and demands logical state- 
ments of him. Here is the positive advantage the 
teacher is to the pupil. * * 

“ The one who thinks as he reads is quite different, 
it will be seen, from him who simply learns as he 
reads. To read and think, or to think as one reads, 
is the end to seek. To teach to think, is then the 
art of the teacher. The reader for facts, gets facts ; 
he comes to the recitation seat and reels off these 
facts. His mind, like Edison’s phonograph, gives 
back just what it received. While this power is 
valuable, it is not the power the world wants. The 
teacher will find his pupils come to the recitation 
to transmit the facts they have gained. He must 
put them in quite another frame of mind. Instead 
of recitators they must be made into thinkers. The 
value of the teacher is measured by his power to 
teach the art of thinking.” 

“A valuable article,” he commented, “and 
of utmost use to all beginners in your line,” 
caressing her as he spoke. “But you’ve 


FORGETMENOT. 


6 1 


already learned the lesson pretty well,’ if I 
am not mistaken. You have learned to 
think. In fact, you have always known the 
art, it seems to me.” 

“Carly,” she said, not heeding his compli- 
ment, “ did you ever read a book that filled 
you so with thought, you had to lay it down ? ” 

He nodded assent, and asked : 

“Have you?” 

“Indeed I have. I think ‘My Novel’ is 
the most wonderful book in that way I have 
ever read. I thought I would never finish 
it.” 

“ Did you not like it? ” 

“I certainly did. It was truly splendid; 
and the writer has the pen of power. You 
feel it as you read. He takes possession of 
you. And oh,” she went on absently, while 
casting back in her mind, “I see it yet; the 
people as they lived, and moved, and talked. 
Yes, often I would be obliged to lay the 
book right down, and sit and think for hours. 
It filled me so with thought. Poor Leonard ! 
and the little sister-friend. Sweet Violante ! 
with her life of sun. Yes, poor Leonard ! 
how he struggled on, and found the road so 


62 


FORGETMENOT. 


rough with briars and thorns — thrown wan- 
tonly sometimes upon his way — but still he 
got there ! and found peace at last. I wish 
I could remember who it was who helped 
him most — his patron ? I’ve been trying, and 
I cannot call it up. How pretty it was, to 
style him there, ‘the poet’ — with his poet- 
eyes. I wonder if I’ll ever have a name like 
that ? I used to wish so for it, as I read. Yes, 
Leonard is a hero in my mind,” she went on, 
with her train of thought and musing. 

4 4 Ay, Sunshine, you will one day have that 
name, as well as he. And will be writing 
too, ‘My Novel.’ Only work, that’s all 
you’ll have to do. Put on your little cloak of 
Confidence. Then trim it round with Patience, 
and the end will come.” 

His own assurance was so much that now 
it seemed at last to be taking hold of her, and 
to fill her with ambition. Or, with ambition 
in a new attire, and fraught with joyful hope. 
She raised her grateful eyes to his, and smiling 
sweetly, said : 

“Thank you, Brother dear, my little Star 
of Hope seems rising. Life is full of 
pleasure,” she observed directly. “ See this 
pretty piece? I’ll read to you, this time : ” 


FORGETMENOT. 


163 


“ Pleasure is one of the great blessings of human 
life, both for it’s own sake and for it’s inherent in- 
fluence on character; it therefore demands not con- 
tempt or indifference, but thankful recognition. It 
is not pleasure, but something evil that may some- 
times be associated with it, that needs weeding out 
from our lives; and, if sociality had no other claim 
than the simple and innocent happiness it creates, 
it would still deserve a high place of regard.” 

“ Exactly so, Little One. Thank you. It 
is a pleasure to hear your voice. Now where 
is your funny piece? We need a little wit.” 

‘ 1 It is called, ‘A Seaside Romance,’ ” laying 
her finger on the place, and smiling as she 
did, while adding, “ I wish to go to Long 
Branch, but not to that same house. Read 
and see if you do ? ” 

“ A man at Long Branch,” it ran, “ recently en- 
tered a restaurant and asked : 

“ ‘ Have you any clam chowder? ’ 

“ ‘ We have,’ replied the waiter. 

“ ‘ Bring me a plate.’ 

“A plateful was placed before him, and he set to 
work with great gusto. After he had taken about a 
dozen spoonfuls he drew a pair of opera glasses 
from his pocket and looked intently at the chowder 
for some time. Then he jumped in the air, and 
shouted : 

“ ‘ Eureka ! ’ 


164 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ ‘ What’s that?’ asked the proprietor. 

“ ‘ I’ve got it ! ’ yelled the diner. 

“ ‘Got what?* asked the restaurateur. 

“ ‘ A clam ! ’ 

“ * Great Scott! ’ yelled the proprietor, ‘ he’s got 
the clam ! ’ 

“And before the diner could say a word the pro- 
prietor picked the clam up in a pair of gold pincers 
and bore it triumphantly to the kitchen, threw it 
back into a huge boiler of chowder and said : — 

“ ‘ Who dealt the chowder to that dark-haired 
man over there ? ’ 

“ ‘ I did,’ said the assistant cook. 

“ ‘Then you are discharged for dealing out the 
clam that we used for flavoring purposes.’ ” 

Laying down the paper with a hearty 
laugh, he exclaimed : 

“No, we won’t stop there! What have 
you next ? Some little clippings ? And where 
from, did they hie ? ” 

“From Mr. Hanway’s paper, if you 
please.” 

“Does he send you, then, such treasures?” 

“No, he does not cut them out, and does 
not even mark them. He thinks the paper 
very poor that is published in their town, and 
only sends it to me because he thinks I like 
to have it come. It is a little sheet I know, 


FORGETMENOT. 


l6 5 

and does not have so very much aside from 
business cards. But then, it gives some idea 
of the place, and people. A great man once 
remarked, you know, 4 Show me the paper 
of a community, and I will tell you of it’s 
people.’ 

“But a paper,” she went on, “is like a 
person. I never saw one yet that had not 
something in it. Here are several bits of 
history, one about Karl ist, King of Siam, 
who is deformed by his very long nails — each 
finger is decked off with a half yard. They 
consider it a mark of sovereignty ; and he 
himself bears with the helplessness, calling 
for everything upon his aide-de-camp. He 
is only 20 years old, and I suppose a beau; 
but ugh ! I wouldn’t like him to beau near 
me ! I cannot bear long nails, they are so 
untidy, so unneat. Why do you suppose 
anyhow they want such horrid ornaments ? ” 

4 4 1 suppose to show that he has never 
worked — and cannot.” 

44 Ah, they have not learned it over there, 
that ‘Labor is worship,’ have they?” 

And placing one of the slips within his 
hand, she said : 


l 66 


FORGETMENOT. 


“Now, here’s the Queen, I like this better. 
Read it out, and pronounce those great big 
names ; that one, anyhow, for I can’t do it.” 

Obeying, he read : 

“ The Queen of Denmark, mother of the Princess 
of Wales, is an accomplished painter, and has lately 
presented the little village of Klitmoller, in Jutland, 
with an altar-piece entirely executed by her own 
hands.” 

m 

u How nice. How beautiful, for a Queen 
to be an artist,” she exclaimed. “I wonder 
if she’ll show us her work, when we go over 
there ? ” 

But before he had time to answer, she 
laughed mischievously, and placed a tiny slip 
within his hand. 

“Here’s your sugar-plum; didn’t I tell 
you it was sweet? No, you’ve got to hear it, 
as well as see,” taking it back, and reading 
aloud : 

“A young lady calls her beau ‘ Honey-suckle,’ 
because he is always hanging over the front rail- 
ings.” 

“Whose Honey-suckle are you going to 
be?” smiling at him with a comical look. 

“ Your’s, of course,” he answered. 


FORGETMENOT. 


67 


“No, no, no,” she said evasively. 

But in the next instant she seemed quite 
lost in a dreamy gaze at the far-off West. 

“What do you see,” he asked, “with 
such a dreaming in your eyes ? ‘ What is the 

Little One thinking about ? ’ ” 

“My friend,” she said quite softly, “my 
brave, and far-off friend. I wonder if he’ll 
always stay in that lone place ? ” 

“ Do you ever ask him to come hence? ” 

“ Why do you want to know ? ” 

“ Just tell me ; that is all.” 

He heard the softest whisper : 

“ No.” 

“And, does he talk of coming?” 

“Yes, sometimes.” 

“ And, of coming here? ” 

Once more she said : 

“Sometimes,” in the faintest little tone, 
and went on showing with her eyes a 
world of dreaming thought. 

Directly she observed, in her most childish 
way : 

“It is nice to have a living Hero, a real 
live one — isn’t it ? ” 

He winced a little, but smilingly replied : 


FORGETMENOT. 


1 68 

“ I don’t know, for I’ve never tried.” 

44 Never tried to be a Hero?” askingly. 

u Never had one, I should say. But tell 
me, what kind of nails does Hanway use, to 
fasten his friendship thus?” 

“Not brass” she answered with a quiz- 
zical look, and smiling into his face. 

“ Of course not ‘brass,’ I only thought that 
maybe they were steal — that’s all.” 

44 Oh no, they’re very bright you see. I 
guess ’tis gold — one of the precious metals, 
I am sure,” emphasizing the last word. “Oh, 
I have it, silver , — you know they have a 
silver mine.” 

“ No, I did not. Who are they? ” 

“ He, and his partner. Don’t you know ? ” 

“ Never a word. And how do you know 
they have it ? Do you believe all that lawyers 
say?” trying to tease her again. 

“Yes, more than I do other 7nen . Anyhow, 
just as much,” she retorted. “ I knew it long 
ago ; and seeing is believing,” taking a speci- 
men from her pocket. 4 4 1 introduce you, Mr. 
Doubtful, to my valued friend, Mr. Silver Ore. 
He came thousands of miles to see me, and 
now lives in my desk ; and has something to 


FORGETMENOT. 


169 


do with all my private thoughts. Don’t you 
see, he weighs my paper ? ” laying a pile of 
letters in her lap and placing it on top. 

“ And do you carry it in your pocket, lest 
some one will steal it? It is certainly very 
rich,” taking it in his hand admiringly. 

44 It came in my pocket by accident,” she 
explained. 44 It lives, I told you, elsewhere.” 

44 Ah, I thought that you were heavy,” he 
laughed, testing it’s weight. 

44 No, you didn’t, for you said that I was 
light.” 

And as he gave it back, he passed his arm 
about her. Pushing his hand away, she saw 
the button shining in his cuff, and quickly 
exclaimed : 

44 Here is the 4 brass tack’ ; take it away. 
Don’t you know I said, I did not like such 
metal,” with a sweetly meaning smile. 

44 I’m not listening,” he replied. 

44 Oh no, I wouldn’t; for listeners hear 
some dreadful things sometimes.” 

44 But,” evading her, 44 listen now tome. 
Didn’t you ever hear of Victor Plugo’s cuttle- 
fish ? It wound its arms around everything that 
came within its way, like this ” — drawing her 
gently towards him. 


FORGETMENOT. 


170 

“ But that was way off in the sea,” push- 
ing, or trying to push him aside. 

“Yes, in the sea; now see that great big 
tree ? If you want to play Bruin, go and hug 
it. And if you want to play Dog, you see it 
is ready to bark ; I do believe it is a sycamore 
ti*ee. So go away, Mr. Bow-wow,” now 
pushing him back on the grass. 

“ Say, Alise, did you know that on the 
Atlantic Coast the mosquitoes are so large 
that many of them weigh a pound ? ” 

“Yes indeed, and I think that joke ought 
to be well pounded, so as to get all the essence 
out,” she laughed. 

“ Oh no, just give those chaps a chance, 
and they will draw the essence for them- 
selves.” 

“ But don’t,” she said, with a merry laugh, 
“ you’re making me so foolish. Let’s go back 
now to the Grove? ar’n’t you ready? Here, 
take the Doctor’s flowers ; and please call 
by the porch and bring that little basket 
hanging on the vine. You will see it, red 
and white. Now, do not crush them.” 

“ I won’t,” stooping to take her also. 

“ No,” laughingly drawing herself away, 


FORGETMENOT. I 7 1 

44 you said that I was 4 heavy ’ ; now I have a 
good excuse.” 

44 Ah, but you’ve grown lighter since. 
Don’t you know you said that you felt foolish ? 
That is light talk, you know.” 

And without giving her time to demur 
again, he lifted her and ran. Seating her 
carefully under the grand old trees, he started 
for the basket, and asked : 

44 Will you have your desk to write the 
note ? ” 

44 No, thank you, I’ll not write. I’ll just 
get you to tell him what I have to say. My 
compliments, that’s all. The flowers will 
say the rest. And too, 4 1 hope that he is 
better.’ Won’t you take the message for me ? ” 

44 With pleasure,” he called back, and soon 
came with the basket. 

And, presently the fragile flowers were 
deftly stowed within — while giving forth 
their perfume like the pure and spotless life. 
After gazing on them silently awhile, she 
cried devoutly: 44 1 would that the lives of 
men — Oh ! that the lives of all of us were 
like these perfect flowers ! God made them 
all to blossom on the way. And likewise 


172 


FORGETMENOT. 


He made us to grow and blossom on the road 
of Time. Then why can’t we be like the 
flowers, filled with grace and loveliness and 
sweet perfume? And why not emulate the 
oak, the grand old towering monarch of the 
wood? Facing the storm and tempest of all 
age, it ever, ever lifts it’s noble head and arms 
to God. Sheltering the beasts that dwell 
below, and looking up to Him who dwells 
on High. And yet, it once was but a tiny 
seed — a little acorn in it’s cell. Oh, Father ! 
teach Thy ways through all these beauteous 
works. Father in Heaven, I pray Thee, to 
look down, and bless. Teach us to climb 
and mount the great and ponderous stair of 
Age, until at last we rest with Thee. O, 
this to-day, must be my prayer ! ” 

He was kneeling now beside her, and his 
head bowed low. And as her voicing ceased, 
he drew a long soft breath, and gently took 
her hand. Both were silent. 

At last she spoke again and said : 

“ Yes, you are right. I must always be a 
child — must be a little child,” she added 
thoughtfully, so that I may surely enter the 
Kingdom of Heaven. For you know we 


FORGETMENOT. 1 73 

have to enter there as little children, ” she 
continued lovingly. 

And directly with another burst of thought, 
she cried : 

4 ‘ Oh ! why don’t people learn to know 
the loving God, I wonder? It is because 
they do not know Him — do not under- 
stand His ways and laws — that they so 
often disobey Him. Oh, if they’d only take 
the trouble to know him,” she went on appeal- 
ingly,” they would love him, they would have 
to love Him, as ardently as they do each 
other, only more — more , — for He is alto- 
gether lovely ! ” she exclaimed, clasping her 
hands in rapture. 

44 O ! Brother!” she cried beseechingly, 

4 4 always love your God ! And keep close to 
Him, too. Never say you 4 haven’t time,’ ” 
she went on musingly. 44 I’m sorry for the 
people who 4 haven’t time ’ in this great 
world. They haven’t time to do good works, 
haven’t time to help each other, haven’t time 
to know themselves ; and worst of all, some 
of them think they haven’t time to pray — to 
thank God for their blessings. But they all 
expect of Him, to have time to think of them, 


*74 


FORGETMENOT. 


and keep on sending blessings. Yes, Brother 
dear,” she went on sweetly, 44 always take the 
time to think, and pray. No matter how 
busy your days and life may be, never forget 
to pray. You know that St. Paul says, 

4 Pray without ceasing,’ and we should do it, 
just as we draw our every breath.” 

He felt her inspiration, and only answered 
by the pressure of her hand, and meaning 
look of kindred soul. 

Again they both were silent. 

Finally, she said, arousing and coming 
back as it were to earth : 

44 Why are you so silent, Brother dear?” 

44 I was absorbing your thoughts, and 
wondering if you suffer nowadays. Do you ? ” 
he enquired tenderly. 

44 Sometimes,” she answered simply. 

44 I was afraid so, though you do not show 
it in your face,” he continued, watching her 
intently. 

“Don’t I?” she said, raising her yearning 
eyes, 44 I am so glad because I ti'y not to. 
Indeed I try not to think of it at all, ” she 
went on with a patient smile, and adding 
softly, 44 though I do love sympathy.” 


FORGETMENOT. 1^5 

Taking her hand in his he asked : 

“Think of what? Your pain, or your 
affliction ? * 

“ I try not to think of either,” she replied. 

“ But how can you help it, Little One, 
with such a heavy cross through all your days 
to bear ? ” 

“ O, we can help anything if we only try 
hard enough, — and, with the Savior’s love,” 
she added reverently. 

“Do you believe in miracles?” he asked 
directly, with an earnest thoughtful look upon 
his face. 

“ I do,” she answered feelingly, with eyes 
and voice. 

“ And think you will be healed, like those 
of long ago ? ” he went on tenderly. 

“Yes,” she said, with heaven-beauty shin- 
ing in her eyes, “I would not be surprised 
at any day, or hour, at the coming of the 
Lord. But I do not worry. I am only waiting 
for His will, she added patiently. “ And I 
know when He is ready, He will touch, and 
make me whole,” she said impressively, while 
her soul of resignation seemed illumined from 
on High. 


176 


FORGETMENOT. 


“And, may He touch you — do it soon , — 
my Little Faith ! ” he added reverently, and 
like a prayer, while raising his lustrous eyes 
to God. 

He gazed at her intently for awhile, and 
then said anxiously again : 

44 Little One, you look so pale — are you 
suffering, or feeling ill ? ” 

44 O no, I’m all right now — it was only a 
twinge of pain, and it has gone again,” she 
answered cheerfully as before. 

44 And do you suffer much, and often, now- 
adays ? ” he went on feelingly, and full of 
anxious look, 44 you did not answer fully — 
do you dear ? ” 

44 Not much” — she said, and smiled, 44 only 
sometimes — and even then, I can always 
bear it.” And looking up she went on 
sweetly saying with a smile, 44 You know 
we have to bear the 4 cross,’ so that we can 
wear the 4 crown.’ And do you know the 
Poet’s lines ? ” she asked and answered both 
at once, repeating in her soulful way, 

“ O fear not in a world like this, 

And thou shalt know ere long — 

Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer, and be strong ! ” 


FORGETMENOT. 


177 


44 Great God ! What a teacher you are ! ” 
he exclaimed with adoration. 

After a time of silence she began again, 
44 Brother I have a thought, a good one, and 
a favorite — it is a pet of mine.” 

“And do you feed and fondle it?” he 
interrupted playfully. 

“Indeed I do,” she answered earnestly. 
4 4 And I want you to help me feed and care 
for it, and carry it out well. I’m in earnest. 
Will you?” she continued anxiously, 

44 Certainly, yes, if possible,” he said. 
44 What is it? ” 

44 1 am going on a mission,” she replied, 
44 sometime — avast and wonderful mission. 
I’m going to visit the Prisons of our land. 
And I will talk to the prisoners,” she con- 
tinued, 44 and will tell them, and will teach 
them, and will try to make them see, that it 
is far more lovely to be good than bad. Do 
you think that I can do it ? Can I reach them, 
can I touch their hearts, and heal their suffer- 
ing souls?” she went on asking fervently. 

44 Verily I do,” he answered, 44 Little One. 
Your spirit-force will reach them — will pierce 
the very hardest ones — while your affliction 


7 8 


FORGETMENOT. 


will be sure to melt their hearts. Full well 
I know,” he went on feelingly, “there is a 
tender spot in every man — in even the hardest 
one. And a little spark is always left to 
kindle, in even the most sadly sin-tossed life ! 
Yes, I approve your plan, my Little Samaritan, 
and I foresee that you will do a wonderful 
work with those poor fellows.” 

“ Yes, poor fellows ! ” she repeated, “You 
rightly call them so. And oh ! ” she added 
fervently, “ I have the deepest sympathy, — 
my heart aches sadly for them, one and all ! 
Not only because they are shut out from the 
world, but so many of them, shut out from 
our God. That their lives are burdened — 
weighted down with sin ! Poor souls,” again 
she murmured tenderly, “they suffer — they 
all suffer, untold agony — and yet so few of 
them know how, or realize they know, how 
to redeem themselves, in order to again be 
free. They only think that freedom means 
to unbind their bodies from the chains ; 
whereas, in reality, that is the smallest part.” 
Her face illumined with the theme, her thrill- 
ing voice prevaded all around. It more than 
reached his listening ear, and when she ceased, 
he said : 


EORGETMENOT. 1 79 

“How would you lift the burden from 
them, Little Minister ?” 

“How?” she asked. “In many ways. 
First, to teach them to confess. Confess to 
God, and then to man, if need be — I mean 
to make a declaration of it — to their care- 
takers, associates, and themselves. ‘ Honest 
confession,’ you know, is said to be ‘good for 
the soul.’ And so it is. I kiiow it. This 
you see, is the first unburdening from the 
load. And after it is done, the worst is over, 
and there are many gentle remedies to heal 
and soothe the poor sick soul, the aching 
heart, the hungry sufferer ! ” 

“Oh! don’t you see?” she asked again, 
with her appealing thought, and look, and 
voice. 

“ Yes,” he answered thoughtfully, “ I see. 
You understand the subject, and have weighed 
it well. And, you fill me with new wonder. 
What has put such thoughts, such ponderous 
subjects in your little brain ? ” 

“ Oh, I have a friend who was a warden 
once,” she said, “and he was such a good one, 
was so kind, and just, and wise, that he re- 
deemed a host of fallen men while there. And 


i8o 


FORGETMENOT. 


then,” she added gravely, “there is another 
reason. I have known a prisoner, or two. 
So you see, I know all sides. And I also know, 
that when these men are once redeemed — really 
redeemed, after their fall — they are often- 
times, more noble, strong, and grand than 
they ever were before. And perhaps, I may 
say, ever would have been. For I believe, 
that a new life of exaltation is oftentimes a 
beauteous aftermath. That virtue is many 
times the blessed aftermath of vice. Cast- 
off sins can be used like decayed matter to 
fertilize new life. The sweetest fruits, you 
know, grow out of homely soil, and the fairest 
lilies grow on slimy ponds. And so I thus 
would show them the bright Star of Hope, 
and loose them from the mill-stone of Despair. 
Yes,” she continued, looking up with. yearn- 
ing eyes and reverence, u I’d point them to the 
blessed Star of Bethlehem ! ” 

She ceased to speak, and rested back her 
head in thought. 

“You are full of inspiration, Child,” he 
said. 

And presently, he asked : “Is that all, you 
would say, and do?” 


FORGETMENOT. 


iSl 


‘‘Not all,” she answered, “for when this 
change has come to pass, I believe in giving 
them their liberty — a chance to undo the 
wrong they left behind, and build a tower 
of Right. As we expect God to forgive, and 
help us, after repentance, so must we forgive 
and help one another.” 

“Just so, fair Child. But, how can we 
make the rulers see, and feel this thing ? How 
can we reach the Mercy-seat within them ? 
It seems the Government of our land cannot 
be made to see the need and feel the impor- 
tance of sending Ministers to preach the 
Gospel in dark places. When they license 
dens for selling souls, it seems a pity that 
they cannot use some of the revenue in mis- 
sionary work to counteract the harm. It 
seems as if there ought to be a corps of Minis- 
ters, paid by the Government, to work in all 
of her Institutions, — of every kind. And the 
separate States should do likewise. And I 
believe great good would follow. But, to 
return to the pardoning power. What were 
you going to say of that ? ” 

“ I hardly know what,” she said, “ it is such 
a responsible trust. What a world of wisdom 


182 


FORGETMENOT. 


it takes to know how to use it aright. What 
discernment is needed to withhold one who 
is still a dangerous beast ; and to be able to 
see, and say with spirit-power and Christ-like 
grace to another : 4 Thou art a man — art 

free — go hence, and sin no more ! ’ Yet, even 
when it is so, that the near-sighted man, the 
human ruler, cannot see the new-born soul, 
and free the prisoner, I feel, I know, that he 
can live a better, happier life within the walls 
than many who may roam at large. Yes, 
even if the righteous ones within cannot ex- 
change with many who should have their cells, 
they know they can be happy men e'en there, 
and only need to wait a little while to hear 
the Bugle-call ! But I do believe," she went 
on fluently, “that the Rulers of our land — of 
this poor nether world — the men who sit in 
high positions, with power vested in them to 
utter 4 yea,' or 4 nay,’ over the lives of others, 
should be so trained, at least, should train them- 
selves in higher thought and wisdom, and true 
righteousness, till they should always know 
when to say, 4 Freedom * to a suppliant. 
Yes, there are many times," she said con- 
cludingly, drawing a deep thought-sigh, 44 that 


FORGETMENOT. 1 83 

we should open the iron cage, and free the 
Prison-Bird ! ” 

There was silence for a time, and then he 
spoke approvingly with feeling : 

“ Grand are your thoughts, and well have 
you learned the Savior’s lesson, Child. And 
even the Poet says you know, ‘ Teach me to 
feel another’s woe.’ ” 

“ Yes, yes, I know what Pope has said,” 
she smiled, “but his thought doesn’t suit me 
quite, so I’ve written my own version of it, 
and like this,” she said : 

“Teach me to feel another’s woe, 

To chide the fault I see, — 

That mercy, I would strive to show, 

Sweet Mercy, show to me. 

“ He says, 1 hide ’ the fault,” she explained, 
“ but I don’t believe in hiding faults, or sins 
either. That’s what’s the matter with the 
world. The sins hide from place to place — 
are passed on and on, from one person to 
another, when they ought to be waylaid, 
and utterly destroyed, — and, better things 
passed around.” 

And after another pause she cried, “Yes, 
Sin is a cunning serpent, and has a dangerous 


i S4 


FORGETMENOT. 


fang. Vice is an awful master, and holds on 
to his victims tight. Even when they writhe 
in agony, he still holds to them tight, and will 
not let them go — unless he is obliged to. 
And, his prisoners are many. There are lots 
of ‘ Jail-Birds ’ don’t you see, outside the 
prison walls.” 

“Oh! Brother, Brother,” she exclaimed, 
“the thought oppresses me ! We need re- 
forms of every kind, to cleanse the world, 
and make of life a Paradise ! ” 

“ But oh, I am so tired,” she now sighed, 
these painful heavy thoughts oppress and 
weary me. I did not mean to bring them in 
to-day, and when your time was short. May 
they go now ? ” again she sighed, and 
drooped her head. 

“Yes, they may, and must go now, and 
I’ll rest your little head, just so,” he mur- 
mured soothingly, while drawing his arm 
around her, and rocking the little chair to 
and fro, and chanting low : 

“ Now close your eyes and rock-a-bye, 

Close your eyes my Baby. — 

Close your little eyes and sleep — 
Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye — 

God is nigh, my Ba-by ; ” 


FORGETMENOT. 1 85 

he went on softly singing like a tender mother 
lulling an infant to rest. 

The restful voice and soothing lullaby soon 
made the little curtains fall, and she seemed 
sleeping — with a stillness as of waning life. 

With bated breath he knelt there close and 
watched her, lying thus so helplessly, so 
fragile, pale and still, until he caught his 
breath and thought of Death. 

“ What if He should take this Little One ! ” 
he cried within him. “ Oh ! my God, I pray 
Thee, do not. Spare her yet on earth, a little 
while — O spare her yet to me — my own dear 
little Lamb ! ” he prayed and murmured 
softly. 

Presently she stirred, and opening her eyes, 
looked in his face and smiled. 

“Did you sleep ? ” he asked, “ and are you 
rested now ? ” 

“Oh yes,” she whispered with a heavenly 
smile, “I slept, and oh! I dreamed. I had 
such a lovely dream. I thought the Savior 
was on earth, and all the dark things passed 
— the sins all marched away — and everything 
was fair and radiant. I can’t describe it all, 
but I can see the picture still,” she said 
serenely, and with a far-off look of joy. 


FORGETMENOT. 


1 86 

Noting still her pale transparency, with 
beauty of ethereal look, the agonizingthought 
once more came over him, and made him 
even pale. 

Seeing his pallor she exclaimed with anxious 
voice, “Brother, are you ill ? 

“No, not ill, dear Child. I was thinking 
still of you. Are you suffering now ? ” again 
he asked most tenderly. 

“O none to speak of,” she responded 
bravely. “ It is passing off again — don’t think 
of it, or worry please. I tell you I can bear 
it, and I like to learn to bear things. I 
admire self-control. And there’s not enough 
of it in this great world, I think,” she went 
on wisely. “Most of the sin and trouble 
come from the dearth of it you know.” 

“Yes, I know, but never thought of it 
before,” he said reflectively.’ “ I see that it 
is so.” And taking her little hand caressingly, 
he went on tenderly w T ith feeling. “And so 
you love to 1 Suffer and be strong,’ while 
waiting for ‘ the coming of the Lord ’ — and 
healing. You are indeed, His child ! And,” 
he added presently, “a benefactor to the 
race,” 


FORGETMENOT. 


187 

With a grateful smile she answered hum- 
bly, “I would to God, that I might be!” 
And after a thoughtful pause, she asked : 

“What do you think, Brother, is the 
greatest benefaction to this country ? ” 

“I scarcely know,” he answered, “unless 
it be the ‘Leland Stanford University,’ ” 

“Give it the full name,” she suggested. 
“It is Leland Stanford, Junior, named for 
their beautiful boy. And what a beautiful 
tribute to his memory,” she continued. “I 
believe it covers more ground, of earth, and 
possibilities, than any Institution in the 
world.” 

“Yes,” he assented, “a master-field of 
usefulness to the world, and a grand monu- 
ment to their child.” 

“To their lovely child,” she said, “who 
was sent after years of wedded life to bless 
their union. And,” she added tenderly, “was 
taken away in a few short years, to sadden it. 
But while they grieved they worked,” — she 
went on thoughtfully, “worked as perhaps 
no human friend can realize — to do the 
greatest possible good in the time allotted to 
them. And there seems no limit to the 


FORGETMENOT. 


1 88 

good that they have done. His railroad 
work alone, on that Pacific road, has been a 
revolution to the country — and has of course 
affected other countries ; for influence never 
ends, you know. Then he has worked for 
the poorer classes, as perhaps few others 
have. And his private gifts are manifold. 
I’ve heard it said, that no one ever knocked 
at the door of his purse in vain. Yes,” she 
continued with conviction, “I expect his 
wealth and influence have reached further 
than any man’s this country ever reared.” 

“Would you like to have such wealth of 
gold ? ” he asked. 

“No, no,” she quickly answered, “ I would 
not. I’d fear to have such a golden chain, 
lest it bind me to earth instead of heaven. It 
is too heavy on one’s life,” she added presently. 
‘‘Dear Mrs. Stanford seems weighed down 
with it, and the care that it has brought.” 

“And you do not care for any wealth ? ” he 
queried. 

“Yes, I’d like to have a little — enough to 
bring the comforts of this life, and to ease 
the anguish of God’s needy children, but I 
would not want the -weight of money on my 


FORGETMENOT. 


189 


life. It would be too much” she sighed. 
“It can’t buy conscience after sin, nor hearts- 
ease after sorrow. It can’t bring consolation 
now to Mrs. Stanford, that her partner has 
been called. My heart aches for her loneli- 
ness ! So I have written this,” she said, 
handing him the pencilled lines in verse. “It 
may not sound like much to others, but it is 
my voice of sympathy to her, in this the 
saddest, loneliest hour of her life ! ” 

“ ’Tis ‘tender and true,’ my Little Muse,” 
quoth he, “and nearly as sweet as your lines 
on Mrs. Harrison. I’ve stored them in my 
memory,” and so saying, he recited soulfully : 

“ Hark! we hear thy voice still sounding 
Tenderly, in soulful strain ; 

Yet perceive thy hand still doing 
Loving acts to ease Life’s pain. 

“ Adding links to chains of kindness — 
Weaving garlands of true love — 

Weeding briars from the pathway 
To the Glorious Gates Above. 

“ Loving tears I fain would mingle 
With thy kindred’s near and dear, 

And would lay a fragrant flower 
On thy precious silent bier. 


190 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ And again, I oft recall thee 

With heart-ache, and tear-dimmed eyes — 
Hear thy tender words of Christ-love, 

Which belong to Paradise. 

“ Saying, ‘ Child, I seek no favor 
For this trace of kindliness — 

I only do what seemeth right, 

For the loving God to bless.’ 

“ Living thus, so calm — serenely — 

Life is robbed of homeliness — 

Burdens heavy, and hard crosses 
Lighten with the Lord’s caress.” 

“ O,” she cried when he concluded, u you 
make it beautiful in rendering. It never 
sounded half so well before. ” 

“ And ne’er could I render, if it were poor,” 
he replied with winsome courtesy. And 
lightly touching her on the brow, he called 
on his Muse and sang : 

“ And here my little blue-eyed Queen, 

Are things of wonder to be seen. 

Within this little brain so wise 
Are subjects for a mighty prize. 

So hie thee on, and never wait 
Until within the Golden Gate. 

Then, will the Heav’nly Father bless 
My graceful Little Poetess.” 


FORGETMENOT. 


I 9 I 

44 But see? Oh dear ! ” she cried, 44 while 
you are decking me with pretty names, I am 
forgetting all about the drooping flowers. 
At least they must be tired enough to droop 
their little heads. Am I keeping you? de- 
taining you too long? ” she went on. 44 Let 
me see ? perhaps I have a bit of ribbon in 
my pocket,” drawing forth a narrow piece of 
white. 44 I’ll tie my card just so.” 

In drawing out the ribbon she also drew 
two letters, each one edged with black. 

44 Have your friends been mourning here ? ” 
he asked. 

44 Yes, Miriam and Margaret; they are 
far apart, yet the Death Angel has whispered 
to each, and they are sorrowing. I’ve tried 
to comfort them, but fear I don’t know 
how,” she added. 44 1 could only send to 
them my poor, frail little sympathy.” And 
gently slipping the papers from the envelopes, 
she said : 

44 See here! Miriam’s beautiful thought. 
She is a lovely spirit, and her life seems full 
of sunshine. I’ve never seen her but the 
once, and yet she often writes me. Her life 
will never be real cloudy, no matter how 


192 


FORGETMENOT. 


much sorrow God may send. She is bright 
and full of fun, yet she is sweet and good. 
Her dark eyes shine like stars,” she said 
descriptively, “ her face is fair, and her white 
teeth fit well her laughing mouth. Do you 
see her now ? ” 

“I do. And will you read me what she 
says ? ” 

“First, she grieves (taking the letter up) 
at the death of her ag£d father ; and then 
again at leaving the new friends she has 
found and learned to love. For she came to 
our country for her father’s health, and now 
returns to her distant home. Here is what 
she says ; but you will excuse her praising 
words?” making a little apology, “for she 
is one of my sweethearts.” 

“Certainly, I’ll excuse, and be glad to 
hear it all — all that you can read. I am 
listening.” 

After glancing a moment at the first, she 
read : 

“Your letter reached me while visiting some 
cousins, and I thank you very much for such a 
lovely long one. The enclosed little blossom I took 
at first ” — 


FORGETMENOT. 


J 93 


(I sent her an orange blossom.) 

“to be one from a wedding wreath; but was glad 
when I read it was not a second-hand flower, but one 
picked for my keeping. I wish I could see you again 
here before I leave for home — sweet home ! which 
will be ere long. I shall for many reasons look 
back longingly to this dear place. It has been my 
home for nearly a year (counting two months’ 
absence) and we may never return to it again. But 
one thing certain; my memory will always hold 
with love the images of all the dear friends of this 
house; and, many others, little Alise, I have met. 
And I trust I shall not wholly drop out of the lives 
of those I leave behind. 

“ What a blessed thing it is, that one life when 
it is ended, through death or absence, can be re- 
tained in the memory of others — and its influence 
go on perhaps forever ! ” 

“ Is not that beautiful ? ” she asked, folding 
again the sheet. And as he bowed assent, 
and pointed to the other, she lifted it. 

“But, Margaret, though good and gifted too, 
is not so sunny,” she explained. “She 
mourns for a parent also, and says that death 
has many stings and woes. The grave is 
full of horrors that she cannot turn aside. 
Poor girl ! ” she added in a plaintive tone, 
“ I feel so sorry for her, and for any one who 


i 9 4 


FORGETMENOT. 


suffers with those thoughts. For me, they 
never enter once my head. Carly,” she said, 
now looking in his face, “I feel no more 
afraid to die, than live. Death to me, seems 
strangely beautiful. Who was it said, that, 
‘Anything so universal, cannot be an evil’? 
Surely God knows well. ‘ He doeth all 
things well,’ ” her final words repeated with 
the voicing of her faith. “ I must read you,” 
she pursued, “ some words of an aged lady — 
83 years old — written to a younger relative. 
I read them once, and they have stayed upon 
my brain. I mean, I will recite them. After 
speaking of her birthday, and the ailments of 
old age, and not being able to go out much, 
she goes on to speak of the death of some 
one’s afflicted child, saying : 

“A blessing to him, no doubt; and to them, 
looking into the future; though a deep trial at 
present when such a tender tie is severed. An 
afflicted one always twines closely around the 
parents’ hearts.” 

“After explaining that she often composes 
letters which she cannot write (still reading 
softly from her memory) , she exclaims : 

“Oh! there are many blessings. My feelings 
expand in the fullness of love, and aspirations that 


FORGETMENOT. 


195 


blessings may descend upon us all ! And preserva- 
tion during our earthly pilgrimage, and a reunion 
in the spirit-world — where separations never come! 
If we are led by the spirit, while here, we are in the 
kingdom, and no change can come — only to the 
mortal part, which lets the captive soul free to bask 
in unlimited space, while the house that held, 
returns to its native elements.” 

“O,” she exclaimed, “does not that dispel 
the horrors of the grave ? I must write these 
words for Margaret. This, Brother, was a 
Quaker Lady, a minister of Friends. So 
here you have an insight to their true religion, 
and sublimity of thought.” 

“And I’m glad to know it, Little One, 
Ions’ have I desired to know more of them. 
It was once my pleasure to attend their simple 
house of worship, and to hear a short, sweet 
spirit-message, from a woman’s lips. And 
their language is both quaint and loving. I’d 
like to have it for my own — this 4 Thee,’ and 
4 Thou.’ Wouldst 4 thou ’ like to have me call 
4 thee ’ so, my little Poetess? ” speaking with 
the gentlest grace. 

“I would,” she answered, 44 for 4 thy ’ voice 
is very sweet,” — then adding a little coyly, 
44 when it puts on the quaker dress.” 


196 


FORGETMENOT. 


“Not otherwise ?” 

u I did not say,” she said evasively. 

“ But what are these names you’ve written 
on the back of this wee envelope? Is this 
the way you mark up Miriam ? ” taking the 
letter from her lap. 

“O yes, she helps me keep account of 
those I have to write to.” 

“And pray who are they all? if I may 
ask. Tell me about each one?” 

“ About each one? ” she answered, looking 
in his face. “It would take a little life-time 
to do that. At least more time than we have 
now to spare.” 

“ I’ll risk it,” he persisted. “ Now begin.” 

“Well, if I must, I must,” she smilingly 
began : 

“The first is Mr. Cowper, my kindest 
poet-friend. It would take me a long time 
to tell you all of him.” 

“ Go on, go on,” he said, “ I’ll be the 
clock, and beat the time, and tell you if it 
takes too long. Or, if it doesn’t suit me,” 
he continued, laughing, “I will strike for 
something higher, and not 4 stop short, never 
to go again,’ like the dear old clock in the 


FORGETMENOT. 


197 


song. You see, Baby,” he went on in playful, 
coaxing tone, “you are my literary bureau, 
and I want to see into every drawer.” 

“Must I begin at the beginning?” she 
smiling asked again while pausing. 

“At the very beginning,” he answered, 
“ yes,” in listening attitude. 

“Well,” she began narratively, “he is 
descended from the famous English Cowper ; 
and is himself a Poet, an Author, and 
Divine. He has written me a poem — a sweet 
thing of beauty — naming me a Poet.” 

“ Is that so?” he exclaimed. “And may 
I see it ? ” 

“You surely may. And,” she went on 
eulogizing, “ he is so good and kind, and has 
been such a helpful guardian-teacher of my 
little verses, I am more than grateful to him. 
Indeed I *feel that he has saved the life of my 
poor little Muse. Were it not for him, she’d 
now, I ween, be sleeping in the dust, and I 
perhaps be weeping o’er her grave — water- 
ing it with my sad tears. But, I was telling 
you of him, not her. Let me see, where I 
left off ? O yes ! (and this is awfully nice, 
and good of him,) just listen. He says, I 


FORGETMENOT. 


198 

4 promise far too well to perish in obscurity.’ 
Now, what think you of 'that, min efrerc?” 
she cried out joyously. 

4 4 Think ? Only the one thing. He speaks 
the solid truth. I like him for it too. Where 
does he live? And where do you see him 
for these interviews?” 

44 He used to live in Amesbury, near our 
dear old Whittier, and first made his ac- 
quaintance by taking a message from me.” 

44 Is that so? But you don’t answer my 
other question,” taking her face between his 
hands, and playfully repeating, “Where do 
you see him for all these talks, I say?” 

44 Oh, only in our letters. I’ve scarcely 
seen him twice — not over thrice, I’m sure,” 
reflectively. 

44 And he is good, you say?” 

44 Yes, he is very, very good, and he is 
kind. Sorrow has made him both, or else 
they were all born in him. Let me tell you 
of one kind and thoughtful act. Never will 
I forget it, I am sure,” she added softly to her- 
self. 44 He heard of a literary Bureau, a 
medium, you know, for passing manuscript 
from writers — young writers — to papers, and 


FORGETMENOT. 


99 


getting them an opening. He wrote me of 
it first, and in the meantime he had sent 
some of his own writings on to test it. Try- 
ing their honesty, and at the same time say- 
ing, ‘ If it didn’t go right, the disappoint- 
ment would be his, and not mine.’ I think 
that was one of the nicest things I ever knew. 
Don’t you ? ” 

“ Verily. It certainly was nice. And did 
it go right ? ” 

u No, not very. The only return I ever 
got, was the man’s letters ; and they are in- 
teresting. But they have often worried me,” 
she added. 

“ Worried you ? Why so ? ” 

u Because he is a riddle, and a puzzle, and 
never would reveal himself to me. I don’t 
like people who are ashamed to be known,” 
she went on musingly. “I had faith, you 
see, and trusted him, because my friend had 
paved the way. But somehow I mistrust 
him now,” she concluded with some empha- 
sis. 

“ Why, Little One? Why so?” 

“ Because ,” she said with hesitation. 

u Because what? ” he urged. 


200 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ O, for one thing, if you must know,” she 
replied, abashed, with the color slightly coming 
to her cheek, “ he admired my writings, 
and asked to see my picture. And then, he 
called it, ‘ beautiful ,’ ” she continued seriously 
and with a touch of indignation. 

And looking up in time to catch the twitch- 
ing of his mouth and the humor in his eye, 
she suddenly exclaimed with injured air, “ You 
laugh — make fun of me,” and then lapsed 
into wounded silence, and looked aggrieved 
and hurt, the big tears springing in her eyes. 

“I beg your pardon. No , a thousand 
times,” he urged. “ I beg you to go on, sweet 
Baby. Do. I only saw the comic part, of 
punishing a man for telling the simple truth, 
and when it is so rare a thing in these degen- 
erate days,” he continued coaxing, and re- 
assuringly. 

And as he laughed outright, he added, 
“ Please forgive me, Sweet? That’s all. I’d 
bless him for it, if I were you, and pay him 
for the compliment beside,” he added teas- 
ingly. 

4k Carly, behave; you shall not, shall not 
laugh at me, and make such sport.” 


FORGETMENOT. 


201 


“ Little Dear,” he cried, and putting his 
arm about her, “I am not ridiculing you. 
Believe me. Am only thoroughly amused 
to see you want to punish him for honesty.” 

And again he laughed outright, while say- 
ing, “ You’ll let me laugh at the comical part, 
I know, and not even look hurt that way about 
it. So please forgive me, Little Faith, and 
smile and talk again ? ” he begged caressingly. 
“ Don’t you see for yourself how funny it is 
to condemn the man for speaking the truth ? 
And you of all others — you, who so adore 
the truth ? ” 

“ But, Brother, it is not” she continued 
anxiously. 

“Well, well, we’ll agree to differ, 4 Baby 
Mine.’ Let’s have a truce before, perchance, 
you may feel hurt again. If that’s the only 
fault the fellow has, I’d never send him to 
Siberia. And even now, if you’ll allow me, 
I admire his taste.” 

“ But honestly, Carly,” she enquired with 
utmost gravity, “ do you really think he could 
have meant it?” 

44 I do with all my heart,” looking at her 
with admiring eyes, and one of his sweet and 
reassuring smiles. 


202 


FORGETMENOT. 


And thus her troubled look was gone, and 
she simply added softly, “I hope he is sincere,” 
and changed the theme by asking, u Did 
you ever know a more sincere man than Dr. 
Read ? ” 

44 Dr. Read, and who is he? ” 

44 Why you know — I’ve told you of him, 
and I guess you’ve met him too,” she con- 
tinued musingly. 44 If not, you ought to 
have, and must. He is one of Nature’s noble- 
men ! ” 

44 Noble praise, Little Sunshine, and what 
are the things he does ? ” 

44 The things he does ? ” she echoed thought- 
fully. 44 The things he does for me, are 
many when he’s by, because he is my gray- 
haired friend and Doctor. The things he 
does for the world, at least, has done for it, 
are many too, though not perhaps so many 
as for little me. And,” she added, with a 
tender longing in her tone, “how I would love 
to see him now ! But, he is far away,” she 
uttered sadly. 

44 Won’t he return?” 

“Yes, he’ll return, if it be God’s will. 
He looks to that, in everything — in every 
step he takes through life. 


FORGETMENOT. 


203 


“ Carlyle,” she added, looking up into his 
face, 44 I do want you to know him. He is one 
of the living Christians in this life. One of 
the few I’ve known who practice the lovely 
4 Golden Rule ’ — one of the chosen few, who 
really try to do unto others as they would 
have them do,’ ” she went on ardently. 
44 The Savior’s precepts are in many peoples’ 
mouths , but in their lives , how many? Yes, 
how many?” still she echoed sadly. 

“Better say, how few?” he added earn- 
estly. 

u Yes, I meant, 4 how few.’ ” 

“ I know you did,” he answered. “And 
I know full well, that you are among the 
4 few.’ ” 

“I?” she softy echoed, looking up with 
sweet surprise. 

44 Yes, you. And you are preaching, yes, 
and teaching, the Gospel, day by day, in 
your gentle, silent way — just as the quiet 
living stream waters the thirsty flowers and 
trees in passing by, and they don’t know it. 
But the Heavenly Father does. And He 
knows, Dear Child, what you are doing, even 
though the multitude may not. And He is 


204 


FORGETMENOT. 


surely writing the words on High, for you, 
‘Well done.”’ 

“ Do you feel it so? ” she asked with ten- 
der thought, and tender voice. “I pi'cty that 
it is so — with all my heart, I pray,” her low 
voice added fervently, and then was silent. 

After a time, he asked, “ But tell me 
more about this gray-haired hero, and good 
man? I recall now having heard of him 
somewhere. Was, or is he, a warrior? or, 
only a civilian ? ” 

“Yes, a warrior in one sense, for he has 
fought many battles for Right. And in 
another sense beside.” 

“ What is it? Go on telling me of all that 
he has done? Your descriptions are so 
graphic that I take right hold at once, and 
plainly see your people in my eye, and wish 
to see them in reality — the living form. 
You say he is a nobleman? And how? 
What is his life-work? How has he per- 
formed it, may I ask ? ” 

“What is his life-work? And, how?” 
she repeated thoughtfully. “You open a 
big book, in asking that. A volume that I 
cannot even hold, much less to read the half 


FORGETMENOT. 


205 


of it to you. For that would take a life-time 
most. Yet, in few words, I can tell you much. 
He is a physician, an inventor, and a writer. 
And in all excellent ! He has healed the sick 
for years ; and aside from his own practice, 
has invented useful remedies that will live 
long after him. His great invention is a 
cannon shell that our Government used effec- 
tively during the late civil war.” 

“A cannon shell?” he interrupted with 
surprise. The 4 Read Shell?’ Do you mean 
that he invented it ? ” 

44 Yes, invented — and also spent some years 
in labor, time, and money, in showing the 
Government how to make, and use it.” 

44 And has he been well paid? ” 

44 Paid? You know Uncle Sam don’t pay 
his debts. At least, some of the most legiti- 
mate ones, he allows to stand and wait, till 
the weary claimants totter to their graves. 
O, what a pity he should be dishonest, so ! ” 
she cried deploringly. 44 Is there no remedy, 
no cure for it? There is said to be a cure for 
everything , so let’s find one for this? 

44 Oh, I have it ! and a bright thought too ! ” 
she suddenly exclaimed, while her blue eyes 


20 6 


FORGETMENOT. 


danced with fun. u The trouble is, you see, 
that Uncle Samuel’s servants are not real true 
men. At least, some of them are not. Color 
washed, you know ? And no one but them- 
selves knows just what they are made of. Now, 
if their integrity was measured, their conscien- 
tiousness weighed, in fine, their specific gravity 
taken before they take their seats — beneath 
the dome — don’t you see, we’d have a grand 
reform ? ” 

u Yes, I see. But how is that to be done, 
my Little Sage?” 

“ Oh, have a mighty pair of scales, and 
place them at the entrance door — (let the 
Goddess of Liberty hold them if you choose) 
and oblige each man to step on as he enters. 
And to each one who is wanting in honor, 
honesty, sincerity and justice, let the Goddess 
wave her hand, and say, 4 Pass on ! ’ ” 

“ A brilliant thought, Bright One, a happy 
thought ! But, what would you do with the 
delinquents who are passed on, instead of in. 
Cast them in a dungeon deep ? One of the 
great vaults of the Capitol ? ” 

“ O no. Pd have a school nearby, where 
they could all be trained and taught; and 


FORGETMENOT. 


207 


call it, 4 The Congressional School .’ So 
you see, there’s one more public building 
needed by the Government. And,” she added 
smiling, 44 a good 4 appropriation ’ needed for 
it.” 

“Well, we’ll do it, Little One,” he said 
approvingly. 44 We’ll make the move, and 
start the Institution right away, and call it 
4 Alise Reform.’ Now that is settled, tell 
me more about the Doctor. You say he never 
got his pay for all his service to the Govern- 
ment ? ” 

44 No, not in all these years, even though 
he has so many 4 friends at court.’ The Sen- 
ate is all right — you know it mostly does the 
right thing. But the House — God pity it — 
there is always an 4 Objector ! ’ And, may 
God have pity on the souls of those who hin- 
der this ! ” she sighed. 

4 4 And do these men know the Doctor, and 
understand the claim?” 

44 Oh, some do, those who take the time, 
and trouble. But many folks, you know, 
don’t want to know the truth, and therefore 
have not time to seek for it. Let me tell you 
of a piece that I once read, entitled 4 No;' 


208 


FORGETMENOT. 


showing what a little word it is, and how 
young babes begin by using it. And yet af- 
ter all, how few people understand its mean- 
ing, realize its weight, and appreciate the 
dire responsibility of using it. Even some 
great men trip over this small word, and 
hurt themselves, and others, by the fall. 

“ But to go back to our subject, Brother, the 
Doctor has a friend whom you should see — 
one who knows him well — whom you should • 
meet, and listen to — upon his theme, and 
others. Yes, Colonel Pugh is an ornament 
to the Senate. See his letter. You may 
read it out. I like to hear a good thing often. 
Like tasting fine fruit — I enjoy the flavor,” 
she concluded smilingly, while handing him 
the letter, which ran thus : 

“United States Senate, 

“ Washington, D. C., April — , 18 — . 

“I cheerfully state on personal knowledge of Dr. 
John B. Read, for 25 years, that he is a physician of 
great skill and ability, and research in his profes- 
sion, besides being a scientist of surprising mechan- 
ical and inventive genius. 

“Dr. Read is a gentleman above reproach, and 
one of the purest men I ever knew. He can be 
trusted in all respects, without limit, or qualifica- 
tion.” 


FORGETMENOT. 


209 


In concluding it he said, “That is indeed 
a splendid paper, and high praise. And it 
bears the stamp of truth upon it.” 

“Yes, and you should hear what others 
say — Admiral Porter for one — of his service 
to the Government. And yet the House — at 
least, an unjust spirit there, objects. God 
pity him, I pray, and have mercy on each 
soul, and melt the hardened hearts with 
prayer ! ” she cried, with feeling earnestness. 

“Try your head and heart, Little One,” he 
said suggestively. “You often accomplish 
things where others fail. When they know- 
it will be a blessing to you, they will surely 
heed your voice. Yes, the grace of God 
will touch, and bid them to. I know it ! ” 

A silence after these words of prophecy, 
and he resumed, “You spoke of the Doctor’s 
writings. What of them ? ” 

“What of them? Why, he has been a 
Journalist, and is a strong and graceful 
writer. His wonderful book, entitled ‘A 
New Cosmogony,’ is a religious work in 
harmony with science, for the reading, think- 
ing world. But, you must see the man. He 
is as noble looking, as he is. Dear Doctor ! ” 


210 


FORGETMENOT. 


she concluded thoughtfully, and with her far- 
off look. “And you may see his picture. 
Remind me when you come again.” 

“I’ll be sure to,” he answered, and then 
asked, “ Where did you get this solemn book, 
Dear Child ? ” absently turning the leaves of 
a volume which he had not seen. 

“Why, that is my beautiful Miserere, sent 
by Mr. Cowper ; and one of his own trans- 
lations. I forgot to show it to you, and tell 
you he was a linguist, with all his other 
adornments. You should read Savonarola. 
But I ween of course you have been through 
it long, long ago, being such a book- worm.” 

“Correct,” he answered, “ book- worms 
devour all, and — oh ! ” he exclaimed with a 
smile of surprise, “ who are these bright 
little faces peeping out from its pages. Are 
they twins, nestling so close together on one 
card ? ” 

“No, not exactly twins,” she answered, 
taking the picture lovingly, “but two little 
sisters who come to see me — sweet little girls, 
with soft brown hair and eyes. Sometimes 
they bring a present of something nice to 
read, or eat. The other day they each brought 


FORGETMENOT. 


21 I 


me some verses they had copied carefully. 
Often they want me to read aloud. And 
then we all sit in a row, or cuddle together 
like birds in a nest. The little one likes to 
nestle just as close as she can, and lay 
her face upon mine, and look on the page 
while I read. She has dimples in her cheeks, 
and such a tender little heart, all full of 
sympathy. God bless her ! And may she 
grow up like the Savior,” she said in loving 
tone. 

‘ ‘ And have they any names ? ” 

“ O yes, Ethel and Bertha. Bertha is the 
little one — the baby of the family — and yet a 
little woman, in her wee nine years.” 

“Dear little Souls!” he said, “ they will 
receive God’s blessing for being good to you. 
My dear Little Daisy,” he resumed, “I have 
learned to know that the sick and afflicted are 
under God’s especial care, and that He blesses 
those who serve them.” 

“Did I ever tell you of the lovely blind- 
girl poet ? ” she replied by asking, and look- 
ing up with soulful sympathy. “ She writes 
as ‘Alice Chadbourne,’ * but her real name is 


* See advertisement in back of book. 


212 


FORGETMENOT. 


Augusta Davis. We have a mutual friend, 
Mrs. Wellcome, who is herself a soulful 
writer, and who gives her help and sympathy. 
She aided her in getting out this lovely book 
of ‘ Poems from Yane.’ You haven’t seen 
it either?” she said, taking the volume in 
her hand, and poring tenderly over its leaves. 
“ She is one of the sweetest writers I have 
ever known. I wish I could sell thousands 
for her — not alone for her support, and needed 
comforts on her bed of pain, — but to attune 
the peoples’ hearts with her melodious song. 
’Tis like the dying swan. Listen, Brother, 
and inhale the perfume of these 


VIOLETS. 

“Come, sisters, come! there ne’er was born a 
morning 

So purely bright as this ; 

I long to watch the rosy, glory dawning 
Under the sun’s warm kiss. 

“ I know a hiding-place of fragrant treasures, 

The spring’s late lovely flowers ; 

Oh, come ! the season brims with dainty pleasures 
For happy hearts like our’s. 


FORGETMENOT. 2 IT, 

“ I watched them go, while bitter thoughts were 
springing,— 

I, too, loved all things fair; 

Yearned for the sweetness flowers abroad were 
flinging 

On the delicious air. 

“ Why must the sunshine, pure, and bright and 
glowing, 

That touched them but to bless 
And fill each heart with gladness overflowing, 
Bring me so sharp distress? 

“ Why must such wealth of pleasant things be 
yielded ? 

No woodland flowers for me. 

Ah, faithless heart, by the cool grasses shielded, 
What sight sprang fair to see? 

“Beyond my window, ’neath the clustered white- 
ness 

Of fragrant cherry-trees, 

Blooming in beauty, ’mid the shaded brightness 
Kissed by the charmed breeze ; 

“ Lifting their fair heads to receive the blessing 
God sends and ne’er forgets ; 

Giving back incense for the sun’s caressing, 
Nestled sweet violets. 

“ Shamed and yet thrilled with gladness at the 
vision, 

The tears came springing fast; 

Quick footsteps brought me to the spot Elysian, 
All bitter murmurs past. 


214 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ For me, for me, O blue eyes deep and tender! 
For me, O rare perfume ; 

Ah ! if, like you, I, too, sweet praise might render 
For all this gift of bloom. 

“ God does remember; in our sorest trial 
Peace comes, or late, or soon ; 

His loving hand, ’mid life’s most stern denial, 
Bestows some blessed boon.” 

“ Are you listening?” again she asked, as 
the last words fell from her lips. “And, 
harken to this, about 

AGNES. 

“ As I sit in my chamber at night, 

While the stars softly bloom in the sky, 

And the moon, with pale glory alight, 

Hangs, trembling, in blue depths on high, 

I list, as I’ve listened before, 

For a gay little knock at my door, 

And the sweet, happy ringing of Agnes’ voice 
singing 

A song which will sound nevermore.” 

“Isn’t that lovely, 4 While the stars softly 
bloom in the sky ’ ? I had not thought of it 
so, but they do bloom, you know, just as 
flowers burst forth. And here is one more 
you must hear, 


FORGETMENOT. 


2I 5 


THE BLESSING OF THE ICE-CREAM. 

One summer day, into a thronged sa’oon, 

A lovely mother with her children came; 

Two little fairies, blithe as birds in June, 

And fair as fairest flower that I could name. 

Before the eager little ones was placed 

The frosty dainty, sought by young and old, 
When Winter yields the glitt’ring throne he graced, 
And languid airs our drooping forms enfold. 

A moment’s pause, and, then, a strange command 
Rang softly out. The youngest baby said, 
Laying her tiny snow-flake of a hand 

Upon her sister’s, ‘ Bessie, bow your head ! ’ 

And there, amid the merry, careless crowd, 

The children’s golden heads were lowly bent; 
While they besought, sweet-voiced and quiet 
browed, 

A blessing on the feast their Father sent. 

A hush fell on the stirred and list’ning throng; 

Laughter and jest were ended, and a tear 
Stole down unchecked, from eyes unmoistened 
long 

By holy mem’ries. Out into the clear, 

Hot noontide, through the surge and whirl 
Of busy life, was borne in many a heart 
A tender picture of that baby-girl 

Yielding her tribute in the city mart.” 


2l6 


FORGETMENOT. 


“Dear Alice!” she sighed with tears in 
her eyes, while tenderly closing the book, 
u Her lyre is sweet, and her soul is unveiled ; 
and may her dear eyes be too.” With the last 
words her own blue eyes again took on their 
far-off look, and she was lost in thought, and 
silent. Bye and bye she asked, “Did you 
ever see my Heartsease Song? or hear the 
music of it? I wrote it because I love 
Heart’s-ease — in every turn in life, and, there 
is not enough of it in this great bustling 
world. And,” she added softly, “ some 
people call it sweet, and say it is as fragrant 
as the flower’s own perfume. I wish it might 
be so?” 

“It has no perfume, has it, Child? I mean 
the flower ? ” 

“Oh yes, a silent precious incense, that 
many persons do not take the time to get, or 
notice.” 

“Those folks, I suppose, who ‘haven’t 
time,’ ” said he, with a responsive smile. 

“Yes, some of the self-same ones. Poor 
things! I pity them. They haven’t time to 
live, and haven’t time to die. No time to 
help their fellow-beings, or even hear their 


FORGETMENOT. 


217 


cry. And what is sadder still — what always 
makes me sadder still to think, they have not 
time to know — to really know their God.” 

“And has any one found time to set your 
pretty words in song? ” he went on intently 
asking. “ Who is it? I am eager to see, and 
hear? You do not show me all your gems. 
Who has found the time for this — whoever 
has,” he said, while taking the slip of paper 
from her hand and reading it, “will live to 
find the time well spent. Why, Child, it’s 
beautiful. Let me read aloud ? ” he went on. 
And with his usual grace and mellow voice, 
he thus poured out the language of her heart : 

“ I am a little lone Heartsease, 

Serenely growing in the mould ; 

My dress of royal purple soft 
Is trimmed with burnished gold. 

“ I’ve lived, and as I living grew 

To learn the ways of God, and man, . 

I’ve ever tried, and still desire 
To do whate’er I can 

“ Toward making life a paradise, 

Where all may have a garden-spot, 
O’ergrown with vines of Righteousness 
And G^d’s Forgetmetiot. 


2l8 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ I am so young, and yet so old, 

I know not what my age may be — 

I only know my life began, 

And that it pleaseth me 

“ To let it be, and flourish still 
Beside the joyful laughing rill, 

And sing unto the soul of man 
Whate’er the Father will. 

“ And wouldst thou, weary traveller, 

Who long hast wandered from the way, 
And e’en though feet were bleeding sore, 

Did still forget to pray, 

“ List to the message which I hold 
Within this little heart of gold, 

And guard the secret tenderly 
Which I would here unfold? 

“ It is a lesson all should know, 

And one that can be wisely taught — 

It is a lesson simply learned, 

Though often dearly bought. 

“ Of flowers blooming here below, 

There’s one sought out with anxious mind 
It is the antidote of strife, 

God-sent to human-kind. 

“ Then banish every noisome weed, 

Let Righteousness around thee twine, 
Embalm The Lily in thy life, 

And Heartsease 'will he thi^T 


FORGETMENOT. 219 

Concluding it he paused and asked, “Who 
did you say, was setting this to music ? ” 

“O several are about it, and the one who 
makes the prettiest music is to have the 
prize,” she added, smiling. “ I want it 
sweet, and soulful melody, you see?” 

“Yes, I see,” he answered, with his eye 
still fastened to the song. “And to whom 
is it inscribed ? ” he asked again while turning 
from the lines. 

“ To no one yet, but maybe I will pay that 
compliment to 1 Pansy,’ whose writings reach 
so far, you know, and do so much of good. 
And, as Pansy and Heartsease are the same 
in flower language, don’t you think it would 
be fitting and appropriate ? ” 

“It would seem so, very, and is a pretty 
thought in you, and pretty compliment to the 
lady. Especially, if she is your friend. Do 
you know her ? Has she found the time to 
notice, or to help you any? I ask, because I 
know that when people are drinking the praise 
of the world, and writing good things about 
others, and what those others ought to do, 
they sometimes forget, or fail to take the trouble 
to perform the most important acts them- 


220 


FORGETMENOT. 


selves. Nay, even turn a deaf ear to some 
little messenger, sent to them from God. It 
is so with Christian writers,” he continued 
fervently, “and even sometimes so with men 
who claim the inspiration to minister from 
God. They preach loud in the pulpit, and 
to thronging congregations ; but when they 
leave the church they leave God’s service 
with their priestly robes, and haven’t time to 
bind a wound, or heal an aching heart. Yoi 
look surprised, dear Child, but it is so. I 
could name a score of cases.” 

“Yes,” she answered sadly, “it is sadly 
true, sometimes. I, too, could name some 
cases — some that I have seen, and known. I 
think of one just now, where a sickly girl 
called on a Minister to get his aid and counsel 
in a wrong that she had suffered from one of 
his parishioners — a wayward girl — whose 
conduct had been grievous. He had not 
time to have the courtesy to ask her in to 
warm, although the day was bitter. And 
after she was forced to invite herself, from 
sheer suffering, he stood rebuked at her mild 
words, and cried, 1 Oh, yes, come in and 
warm. Excuse me.’ But, when she ex- 


FORGETMENOT. 


221 


plained the case, again he was 4 found want- 
ing,’ and even lightly spoke, and made a joke 
of it. The divine was absent, only the 
human , the ?nan , was there. Once more the 
Christian spirit in the pale and earnest girl 
rebuked him, with her few and simple words 
of deep surprise, and mournful eyes. He 
felt condemned, and saw with her, that he 
was not fulfilling the ministry and law of 
God. She never went again. He went not 
on the mission pointed out to him. But, the 
erring girl in question, went astray.” 

“Child, you preach profoundly,” he ex- 
claimed, when she was silent. 44 Well do you 
read page on page of human life, as well as 
the divine. Now let’s revert to 4 Pansy.’ 
Has she helped you any ?” 

44 No,” she answered sadly, looking up, 
44 she ‘had not time.’ She was busy with 
her own affairs and summer trip. I think 
she was not feeling well.” 

44 1 am surprised at her,” he said. 

4 ‘And I was a little so,” again she answered 
sadly. 

44 Had she forgotten,” he urged, 44 that we 
all live by helping each other on this earth ? 


222 


forgetmenot. 


The charming and gifted Mrs. Burnett sadly 
forgot this once, in refusing to help an em- 
bryo writer — a frail girl alone on the world, 
with her burden of sorrow, her talent, and 
her needs.” 

“Why, Carlyle, you shock me. Mrs. 
Burnett, do you mean, who is noted for her 
charities and highest type of sensibility — en- 
tering even in the lives of animals, and feeling 
deepest sympathy for criminals ? Did she not 
aid her in some way, even with encourage- 
ment or praise ?” 

“Nay, I sadly say,” he answered mourn- 
fully. 

“ And you say she had been helped her- 
self? How, and by whom?” 

“ Her Publishers, Sweet One,” he said, “ of 
course. Without them, how would she have 
been known to the world, or drinking the 
public praise, or rolling in wealth to-day?” 

“ Maybe she will realize, and help her yet,” 
she said. “ I hope so.” 

“And so do I,” he added, with much earn- 
estness. “ But we were speaking of 4 Pansy,’ 
Child, who is counted a Christian leader. 
You have nQt answered my question. And 


FORGETMENOT. 223 

your reply will influence me in reading her 
works in the future.” 

“Well, then, I must say again, she had not 
time to 4 Lend a hand.’ Though I scarcely 
think she forgot that she had been helped 
herself, and that everybody needs it. But 
there was something helpful about it after all,” 
she went on explainingly. 44 Her son’s kind- 
ness did me good. He is polite and gifted, 
and inherits, I think, grace from his mother 
and minister father.” 

44 But, Little One, I am puzzled. Didn't 
she, who is writing of ministering angels and 
ministering lives, e’er hold out a helping hand 
to you, the little Bird with a broken wing?” 

“She said 4 she would come to see me 
some time,’ if you call that a 4 helping hand,’ ” 
she answered. 

4 ‘And has she ever been?” 

“I guess she forgot her promise,” she said 
evasively. 44 Brother, what shall we do with 
the folks who break their promises? That’s 
a conundrum.” 

“I give it up,” he. answered. 44 What 
would you?” 

44 What would I? ” she queried. 44 Why, 


224 


FORGETMENOT. 


teach them to be conscientious. To be care- 
ful in making them. And last, but not least, 
not to make them of brittle stuff like glass, 
so they would need to have so many cracked 
and broken ones on hand,” she added, 
laughingly. 

“ Pretty good l ” he said with an approv- 
ing pat. “You answer well, and can go to 
the head of your class. You can write an 
essay, or a poem on the subject, Miss.” 

“ I already have, Milord,” she quietly said 
with a roguish smile. 

“Eh, indeed? and preceded my com- 
mand. And where is it? I pray. Do let 
me see ? ” 

“ O, I don’t know,” she laughed, “but, 
tucked away in some corner, or in a letter, 
perhaps. That is my way of losing things. 
I tuck them into my letters, and there are so 
many of them, and in such a number of 
places, that I often can’t find what I want, 
and am tempted to get a search-warrant.” 

“ Better try a search light,” he suggested. 
“For it will illumine all the dark corners — 
may I venture to say,” he whispered with 
comical look, “without being accused of 


FORGETMENOT. 


225 


‘ sporting ’ again ? May I dig in this gold- 
mine, please?” he continued, in a most win- 
ning and coaxing way, while his dark eyes 
were dancing, and hand deftly touching her 
pocket. “My hand is such a powerful 
magnet, Pm sure it will draw the right one. 
Eureka ! here she is ! ” he cried, drawing 
forth a square envelope. “ Now see if that 
isn’t right? I dug for a square one, you see, 
for fear of temptation again — forbidden 
ground — of ‘ going west ’ young man, you 
know. I haven’t forgotten my lesson, you 
see ? Now look at the letter, and see, and if 
that is not right, Pll sharpen my fingers and 
dig again.” 

“ Yes indeed,” she said with pleasure, 
while drawing out several papers, “ here it 
is, and better still, dear Mrs. Southworth’s 
letter. I intended to show it to you the very 
first time you came, but didn’t know where 
to find it.” 

“ That’s a fine joke,” he replied, extending 
his hand. “ Let’s have the poem first, and 
then we’ll read the letter. One thing at a 
time, the wise pedagogue would say.” 

“But, you’ll find it poor,” she urged. 


226 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ Rich, or poor,” he said, “ I’ll risk it. 
So, here goes. You be the audience, while 
I elocute like this : 

“ A promise is a subtle thing, 

That vanishes, or takes to wing 
Ofttimes when most required here, 

Or, urgently expected there. 

“ Some make a promise out of brass, 

With full assurance that ’twill pass 
Through ‘thick and thin,’ through 
night and day : 

But oh ! ere long ’tis wont to stray 
And vanish, till it’s out of sight, 

And they have, yes, forgotten quite. 

“ Then others, try transparent stuff — 

Believe ’twill do — be strong enough — 
Without reflection use ihin glass, 

But ah ! ’tis brittle, and alas ! 

The thing is broken, severed quite, 

And they are gone, and out of sight ! 

“ But, he who would in earnest live, 

And to his fellows rightly give — 

And, ‘ do as he would be done by,’ 

Will never let his promise die. 

“ He will each one most wisely mould 
Out of the precious metal — gold ; 

And weigh all well, and count the cost, 

And see that ?ione of them are lost.” 


FORGETMENOT. 22 >] 

“Well, and how do you like it, sir? 
Was it worth your while?” she asked. 

“Pretty good, methinks. Very good in- 
deed,” he added, carefully laying it down. 
“ It must go in print. And now Mrs. South- 
worth ; what does she say?” 

“Say?” she answered sweetly, with a 
mischievous smile upon her lips ; 4 4 she says 
that I can write, and ” 

44 Bravo ! Hurrah for her !” he exclaimed, 
clapping a hand on his knee. 44 She’s on my 
side. I’ll vote for her every time. And she 
is a good judge too, you see, being a famous 
writer herself. Yes, I'll vote for the dear 
old lady every time, and toss up my hat 
beside !” pitching it gaily into the air. “Do 
let me see her letter, and give me your 
history of her/’ again reaching his hand. 

44 Not yet, quite yet,” she objected, laugh- 
ing; 44 wait till your ‘tremens’ are past, and 
you are again quite sober.” 

44 1 think a kiss would settle me,” he cried, _ 
throwing his arm around her. “ May I hold 
you tight, and smother you with love ? 
Speak when you think I’m ready, and then 
I will let you go.” 


228 


FORGETMENOT. 


“ Right now,” she answered, lovingly 
smoothing his brow. “And be real quiet, 
for here is the beautiful letter, and the sun 
will- soon be saying 4 good night,’ and you be 
saying adieu." 

“Yes, — 

It will be kissing the tops of the trees, 
While I am as tenderly kissing these,” 

he softly sang, while touching her rosy lips. 

Drawing her closely to him they looked on, 
and read together the letter, which ran as 
follows : 

“ Prospect Cottage, July — , 18 — . 
“My Dear Young Friend: 

“ Your note came yesterday, 
and made me glad to hear that you had no harm 
from your ride here. Of course you may ‘ write up 
your call,’ if you can find any one thing in it worth 
while to write of. 

“ I send you back the slips you lent me. The 
sketch of Sandy Spring shows much descriptive 
power. The tale of ‘Little Cut Finger’ is quaint 
and touching. One bit of pen-painting in it proved 
much skill in that art. It was the meeting of the 
Child and the Chief, when ‘the first she knew of it, 
was the dark, heavy shadow that fell over her, and 
made her look up and see the huge form of the 
savage above her.’ 


FORGETMENOT. 


229 


“ I hope you will win fame. 

“ Much will depend on the place you live in, and 
the people who are around you. Industry and 
perseverance will do the rest. 

“ Genius has been defined in essentially the same 
terms by a famous Englishman and a celebrated 
Frenchman. Dr. Johnson said — ‘ Genius is nothing 
more than dogged per sistence, Madam! Dogged 
persis tence l' Count Balzac expressed it in more 
refined language — '•Genius is — Divine patience' 

“ Genius is a sacred gift — greater than wealth or 
beauty, or even the fame it may, or may not win. 
It is the gift of God, and should be consecrated 
to His service in the service of humanity. Not 
desecrated as it often is by the fostering of vice and 
passion. 

“As soon as I can find time I will write a sketch 
for your book. Now I am very busy with other 
work — engaged work, with which I am behind-hand. 

“Come up and see me some afternoon, and let 
me know what progress you have made in your 
collection. You should try to get the contributions 
of the favorites of the hour. You know who they 
are. 

“ If my wishes are fulfilled, you will have success 
in your enterprise, for indeed I am, 

“ Very truly your friend, 

“ E. D. E. N. Southworth. 

“N. B. — Here is the quotation you desired. 

‘ Glory to God for the briefness of life, the gladness 
of death, and the promised Immortal Hereafter!’ ” 


230 


FORGETMENOT. 


“Where did you meet this soulful, gifted 
woman? ” he asked, on laying it down. 

“At her own home,” she said, “ her quaint 
little 4 Prospect Cottage,’ with its encircling 
veranda hedged all around with shrubbery ; 
and with its charming watery view — over the 
peaceful Potomac. One time when I was 
staying near, I had a chance to go there, 
through the kindness of a friend. And oh ! 
it was a treat that I will treasure always ! ” 
she w r ent on with soulful rapture. 

“Was the place so beautiful? or the 
woman?” he continued asking. 

44 All, all!” she said, “but especially the 
woman. Brother,” she continued, raising 
her tender eyes, 44 1 felt as though I’d had a 
taste of Heaven — had seen a sunset picture 
of life, after a life 4 well done.’ She is living 
the beauteous evening-tide amid the glorious 
sunset clouds, that are lit by the golden days 
gone by. She has written numbers of books, 
and some of them beautiful works of fiction, 
but to me, she is more beautiful than any of 
her books.” She paused a moment, think- 
ing silently. 

“Go on,” he said, “and how did she 
receive you ? ” 


FORGETMENOT. 


23 1 


“With a kiss,” she answered softly, “and 
then she held my hand, and talked to me so 
gently all the while I stayed, and invited me 
to come again. She seemed so filled with 
love — both human and divine. Oh ! what 
a beautiful sight to see one growing old 
gracefully. O ! how blessed it is, thus to 
live in the gloaming, while nearing the 
Father’s throne — to hear the angel voices 
calling — calling, calling Home ! ” she sighed 
with feeling rapture. 

“Did she tell you of her writings?” 
presently he asked. 

“Yes, and interesting incidents throughout 
her life. And, she expressed deep interest 
in my little gift, and wished to read some of 
my pieces.” 

“ And have you written about her yet? ” 
he went on, “ I see you have asked her 
leave ? ” 

“Yes, I asked her leave, and wanted to 
write, but have waited because I felt that 1 
could not do the subject justice — I feared I 
could not reveal on paper the beautiful picture 
she is revealing upon the canvas of Life — I 
thought I might not crown her with the halo 
she deserved ! ” 


FORGETMENOT. 


232 

“And is she writing still ? ” he asked again. 

“Yes, she is daily working. But I think 
her subject is a new one, and is on a higher 
plane. That she is writing on the Life of 
Christ. So I have been told by some one.” 

“ These are beautiful thoughts on Genius,” 
he mused, again lifting her letter. “A pro- 
found and healthful study. What is your 
idea of Genius, Little One? ” 

“I’ve scarcely formed it,” she replied, 
“though I think Dr. Read’s definition is a 
sound and strong one. He says : 4 Genius is 
the power to say, to write, or to do extraor- 
dinary things.’ But, if it ever comes to me, 
I think it will be in the Frenchman’s version, 
4 Divine Patience,’ ” she murmured. 44 Let’s 
call it Living with God, Divine Inspiration ? ” 
she added. 

44 And what of this rich quotation ? ” again 
he asked, touching the letter. 

“It is from the beautiful book of Ardath, 
that she was telling me of, and which I am 
anxious to read. She had just been through 
it herself, and was joyously filled with its 
spirit. Yes, dear Mrs. Southworth is living 
in grace, the evening of life,” the Little One 


FORGETMENOT. 


2 33 


said in conclusion. Oh, pray let us all so 
live, that we may unite in chanting this 
beautiful psalm, “Glory to God for the brief- 
ness of life, the gladness of death, and the 
promised Immortal Hereafter ! ” 

“Do you take this ‘Open Window’? he 
asked after a soulful silence, while taking the 
pamphlet in his hand, and carefully scanning 
its pages. 

“No, not exactly. But it is kindly sent 
me by the Editor ; and I find it a sweet 
privilege to look through it at my ‘ Shut In ’ 
friends — both sisters and brothers. And 
sometimes we exchange joyful, restful letters. 
Kindred spirits are born of suffering, you 
know, all the wide world over. And,” she 
continued, “strong, well people can often 
learn of the Savior’s life by reading the lives 
of these dear sufferers. Then, you see, 
there are ‘Associate Members’ — Good Sa- 
maritans, who write us tender letters, and 
send bundles of love, and other things. I 
feel that this is the chosen Society of the 
land. And I think its influence extends even 
across the sea. Go on,” she said as he turned 
his eye again to the page, “ I want you to 


3 34 


FORGETMENOT. 


read it through. Find that about the gentle 
invalid who wanted to send a gift to all the 
prisoners in the land, to touch their hearts. 
And then she wanted to send each one a 
letter, to urge them to be good, and cheer 
them on. I have heard of a dear sufferer, 
living in Kentucky, I think, who writes to 
prisoners, but I cannot call her name just 
now. But I remember wanting to know her. 
And now when you finish that, find ‘ Men- 
delssohn’s Consolation,’ (isn’t that the June 
number?) and when you come to ‘Sugges- 
tions for an Invalid,’ you will see my acrostic, 
only it needs one letter changed. There ! ” 
(pointing her finger) “that white and yellow 
posy making ‘A-l-i-c-e.’ What shall we put 
in the place of the ‘ C ’ for ‘ Cherry-blossom ’ ? 
I can’t think of anything but ‘ S ’ for Sorrel, 
and that isn’t very pretty, and sounds too 
much like sorrow anyway,” she ran on in 
lively mood. 

“But, I can,” he said smiling, and kissing 
her on the brow, “my little A<z£*<?-Blossom, 
don’t forget who is to do such wonderful 
work? ” 

“But what color is it?” she asked. “It 
must resemble these others, you know.” 


FORGETMENOT. 


2 35 


“Pale, and delicate, I think, like you. 
That is my recollection, although I may be 
mistaken.” 

“And here is the brilliant bouquet,” she 
said, reading aloud, “A-zalea, L— aburnum, 
I-ris, C-amellia, and E-ucalyptus. But,” 
she continued still, “I like white flowers 
best for mine, only I want them all to be 
sweet. Now let me see?” she ran on play- 
fully, taking her pencil and paper, “ let us 
make a little Alise wreath of white sweet- 
scented flowers, and the one who finds the 
most of the words, or has it finished first, 
can wear the crown ! I’ll take ‘A’ in Arbuflfs, 
again ; it is so nearly white, we will call it 
so, and I love its perfume dearly. Now 
Lily instead of Laurel” 

“What kind? ” he interrupted. 

“Lily of the Valley, I think, don’t you? 
Either it, or Easter Lily. But here comes 
the ‘I,’ and what in the world is to go with it ?” 
she exclaimed, looking much puzzled. 

“ Iizdigo?'' he mischievously ventured 
softly. And when she tried to frown he 
added, “You are looking blue already, that 
won’t do. Oh, I made a mistake, Aloe — no, 


FORGETMENOT. 


236 

that is an A, and you already have the A. 
Well, Indigenous — Indigestion I mean — 
In fluence , I should say. What ? Y ou shake 
your head? It is strange that I can’t please 
you. Ah!” he cried, “I have it now. If 
you don’t want to be bitter, or bitter-sweet, 
or use any of my sweet Influence , I have a 
splendid one at last that I am sure you won’t 
reject. What do you think it is? Just guess? 
Guess once ? ” he teasingly laughed while 
looking strikingly handsome. 

u Indeed I don’t know,” she answered back. 
“Do make haste and tell me. You see, if 
we don’t hurry up, we’ll never get the wreath 
made. And you promised to help. Now 
give me the I if you please, if you have such 
an awfully nice one? ” 

“ Ipecac /” he cried with a genuine peal 
of applause. And her own voice rang into 
musical mirth, although she tried to suppress 
it. 

“Carlyle, you do beat all!” she said. 
“You shall not help, if you don’t behave. 
Nor shall you ever be crowned. I will get 
Mrs. Gaston to help me, and then she can 
wear the beautiful wreath.” 


FORGETMENOT. 


2 37 

“Ah, your threat makes me thoroughly 
sober, like coffee to antidote morphine,” he 
sighed. “And who is your dear Mrs. Gaston ? 
Another writer before me ? ” 

“No, not exactly a writer; but she’s a 
good reader, and splendid adviser, and always 
a friend to find. No matter when you may 
go, she is ready and willing to give you the 
very service you need. Why, I called to see 
her once about some words, when she was 
cleaning house (and you know that is the 
time some people are cross,” she said in an 
under tone), “ but she was as lovely as ever, 
and stopped right off on the moment, and went 
deep into the subject. She brought down 
one book after another until she had carried 
eight large volumes from the library upstairs, 
to the parlor below, and had them laid out on 
the sofa before me. And dear me, we had 
lots of fun, as well as instructive lessons,” 
she added, smiling with reminiscence. 

“And what were the words you were seek- 
ing? Do you remember them yet?” 

“Yes, there were several, and the Iris was 
one — the most interesting one.” 

“What is it, Child?” he queried with a 


FORGETMENOT. 


23S 

curious puckered brow, “an animal, or a 
flower ? ” 

“A flower,” she laughed, “and a beauteous 
one. I didn’t realize that was the same, 
when I saw it just now in the book. Some 
time I want to tell you about it. It’s the 
most interesting and instructive flower I have 
ever studied. And one that I am anxious to 
own just as soon as. I can,” she added with 
enthusiasm. 

“But is it white? I thought your crown 
was to be all white, or nearly so,” he sug- 
gested. 

“Some are partly white, and very rich,” 
she replied, “while the rest are brilliant in 
hue, even gorgeous. They are named from 
the rainbow, you know ? ” 

“May I be your Iris — your Rainbow? ” he 
playfully asked, hindering her hand that was 
using the pencil. 

“No, no,” she answered without looking 
up from her words, “you will not give me 
any good help.” 

“Well, here goes,” he responded, “now 
I am in dead earnest, and have my pencil all 
sharp. Don’t you see the point? If you 


FORGETMENOT. 


2 39 


conclude not to use Iris I have a beautiful 
one, and very appropriate. Would you not 
like the Life Everlasting — the beautiful Im- 
mortelle ? ” 

“Yes, yes! ” she cried, “perhaps it is not 
sweet-scented, but I like the immortal part of 
it.^ 

“And now,” he continued with interest, 
“will you have Spirea, or Syringa? And 
what will you have for the last? ” 

“ Elyssum,” she said, “Sweet Elyssum, 
which I always call my Elysium .” 

“Now ! Little One,” he exclaimed, looking 
up and touching her brow, “that is a first- 
class wreath, and you deserve to wear it — 
always. Let’s enumerate now, so as to be 
sure we have it all right. You count on your 
fingers, girl-fashion, while I write it down in 
a circle like this O ” 

“But wait, wait a minute,” she cried, “I 
believe after all, I will use Immortelle in- 
stead of the Iris. It is not so handsome a 
flower, but you know the old-time maxim, 
‘ Handsome is, as handsome does,’ ” she 
repeated. 

“And what does it , dear Child?” 


240 


FORGETMENOT. 


“Does live always ,” she replied serenely. 

4 4 Do you not realize the name ? What else 
can be the meaning of the peaceful Immor- 
telle? And its name, too, is poetical. But 
wait a minute more,” again she cried, “I 
really don’t believe our final flower is rightly 
spelled. I do believe they call it with an A. 
But never mind, I’m going to please myself, 
and I think the flower too, by changing it to 
E , and calling it Elysium. Now, you may 
go on. There, your circle is ready to place 
the flowers in. And, when I call them one 
by one, you will see them drop from the 
point of your pencfl in a magical way,” she 
laughed, while he proceeded to trace them on 
the circular line as she called in turn, 
‘A-rbutus, L-ily, I-mmortelle, S-pirea, and 
E-lysium.’ “There now! isn’t that pretty ?” 
she cried, caressing the paper as though she 
saw the flowers. 

“ I never thought of white Lilac,” presently 
she mused aloud. 

“Nor what you were losing by leaving out 
the Laurel fair,” he added. “And by the 
way, I’m not quite reconciled to that, because 
you are to wear it all your days — from bye and 


FORGETMENOT. 


24I 


bye. You know my prophecy? And I want 
to be the one to crown you with it ! ” he 
proudly said, concludingly. 

44 O! there’s plenty of time for Laurels,” 
she answered sweetly, 4 4 after I have earned 
them. Then I can have a crowning- wreath 
made of the leaves, and jeweled with the 
dainty shell-like flowers. And, with it, I 
would like to wear a Heartsease on my 
breast,” she added in her dreamy, soulful 
way. 

“Do you think, Brother,” she asked di- 
rectly, 44 that the Pansy will ever be used for 
our National flower?” 

44 I would not be surprised,” he answered, 
“it is a handsome thought, and pretty em- 
blem.” 

“You know Representative Butler intro- 
duced the Bill, and although he was backed 
by the Pansy Society, they could not get it 
through.” 

“And why was it, Child? I wonder. 
Butler is a strong man, I presume.” 

“Yes,” she answered, “but I heard him 
give the reason in some funny words. He 
said, 4 There was so little poetry in the House, 


242 


FORGETMENOT. 


that many of the Members would as lief 
have the stars arranged on our flag in the 
form of a wash-tub, as to resemble a 
flower.’ ” 

“ Pretty good for him! and substantial 
truth, I fancy. But I really think we should 
be poetical enough to have a National flower, 
like other Nations. I don’t believe in our 
being behind the Foreign Powers in anything. 
And England is already ahead of us with her 
Poet Laureate now ” 

“As well as in her honesty in paying her 
debts to her subjects,” she rejoined. “If 
Miss Anna Carroll had lived beneath the 
British flag, I fancy she would not be aged 
with poverty to-day. But, what are the 
National flowers?” she resumed. “Name 
them for me please ? I don’t believe I know 
them all.” 

“ Scotland has her Thistle,” he thought- 
fully replied, “you remember that? Ireland 
the Shamrock, (for Patrick could not get 
along without the Shamrock of his song,) 
France has her Lily — Fleur de Ids ; and good 
old England keeps her Rose.” 

“ O wait a moment ! ” she exclaimed with 


FORGETMENOT. 


2 43 


beaming eyes. u I knew a poem once about 
it — Mr. Butler taught me — but I’d most for- 
gotten it till now. Oh ! here it is,” she cried 
with laughing voice reciting tragically : 

“ France has her Lily, 

England has her Rose, 

And everybody knows 
Where the Shamrock grows. 

“ Scotland has her Thistle 
That flowers on every hill ; 

But the emblem of America 
Is, a one dollar Bill ! ” 

4 4 Poor 4 we uns ! ’ with our one dollar 
Bill,” she added mournfully. 44 But I would 
spell it with a 4 w,’ because we have won it, 
and with hard work too. But, go on now, 
tell me the rest. You didn’t finish, did you ? ” 

44 Well, really I don’t know any more, or 
else I can’t recall them.” 

44 Well, I do,” she said, 44 what about the 
Orient? — Japan, and her Chrysanthemum? 
lam pretty sure she has it. At least, a gen- 
tleman told me once, in pointing out a fine 
variety, that 4 it was the Japanese National 
flower;’ So, for once, I knew more than 
you.” 


244 


FORGETMENOT. 


“Hurrah for my little wise-acre,” he re- 
plied with comic air — “excuse me, I mean 
wizard. I am the wise-acre, if you please.” 

“But, Brother, to return to the Flag, Dr. 
Read had a fine thought about it, which I 
think we’ll present as a Bill to the coming 
House.” 

“ Paid, or unpaid? may I ask?” 

“Nonsense is out of order, and gone 
home,” she replied, “and Sobriety is in her 
place. Now listen, for you maybe an M. C. 
yourself by that time. It was,” she went on, 
“ that the stars on our flag should be arranged 
in the form of the National letters, U. S. A. 
Isn’t that good ? Then, you see, it would be 
known everywhere, even by folks who were 
not flag-wise — ignorant ones, like poor little 
me. For, don’t you know, once,” she ran 
on, “I lost ever so much instruction, and 
pleasure too, by not knowing the flags on 
different ships — foreign vessels, I mean. And 
other people were ignorant also. So I con- 
cluded, that our dear old flag should tell its 
own name, and be known everywhere — 
wherever it floats on the breeze ! ” she sang 
out, clapping her hands. The spirit of which 


FORGETMENOT. 245 

he caught and flung into our dear triumphal 
song, and went on singing ardently : 

“ Oh say, do you see, by the dawn’s ear-ly light, 
What so proud-ly we hailed at the twi-light’s 
last gleam-ing, 

Whose stripes and bright stars, through the per- 
il-ous fight 

O’er the rampa’ ts we watched, were so gal-lant- 
ly stream-ing ; 

****** 

“ Then con-q .ter we must, when our cause it is just. 
And this be our mot-to, ‘ In God is our trust! 
And the star-span-gled ban-ner in tri-umph shall 
wave, 

O’er the land of the free, and the home of the 
brave!” 

u Hail Columbia ! ” he exclaimed, at the 
conclusion, taking a long breath, and glancing 
around, while lifting the envelope with the 
names long since forgotten, “how we have 
strayed, Little One, through various realms 
of thought. Shall we resume the subject, 
the description of your friends, who are 
looking at us still from Miriam’s letter? You 
know you called her your accountant. Who 
is the next one on the list? ” 

“Miss Addie — dear Miss Addie ! ” lovingly 


P'ORGETMENOT. 


246 

she said. “It would take me many and 
many a day to tell you all of her.” 

“Begin anyhow,” he urged, “let me 
have the preface, or the prelude.” 

“Well, she is one of God’s blessed ones, 
that is a beginning.” 

“And an excellent one,” invitingly he 
added. 

“She is full of sold and spirit,” she wen? 
on, “ has been through trouble, not exactly 
death, but worse — and comes out bright and 
shining, like the silver from the crucible. 
Or, like a shining light with the shadows 
melted off. But wait, I have a simile. She 
is a lamp that God has lit — once filled with 
oil of Pain, but now the oil of Joy — to burn 
brightly, sweetly on, to light the way for 
others. Her influence is a sweet perfume ; 
she has the sweetest mouth to kiss — and — she 
loves me,” she concluded lovingly, with tear- 
ful eyes. “She is one of those who will 
4 never grow old,’ ” directly she pursued in 
revery, “ nor lose her lovely influence. Have 
you ever thought how every person in the 
world exerts an influence on some other? 
How one life is woven with another like the 


FORGETMENOT. 


247 

willows of a basket? One day I had a 
thought, and likened the human family to a 
chain. It was a strong and pleasant thought, 
and so I wrote it down.” 

And as he held his hand she handed him 
the slip of paper it was written on, from 
which he read : 

“The human family is a mighty chain, massive 
and endless. Each link bearing on the next, con- 
nected in some form or shape with each and every 
other. One cannot be severed unmindful of the 
rest; and for every one that falls, the whole must 
feel the jar. Whi e each that fills its proper place, 
adds strength to make the whole entire — a bright 
and perfect chain !” 

To her look of inquiry he said, u Most ex- 
cellent — par excellent ! But nothing more 
than I supposed. Another link, you see, of 
evidence,” he added pleasantly, u to form our 
coming book. Keep this thought. ‘Twill 
be of use.” 

“ Hark to the music of that little running 
stream?” she cried. “ I am so thirsty.” 
And as he ran to bring a drink she called, 
“I will look for something nice before you 
come. Don’t be too quick, for I don’t want 
to be the last. I do not like delinquents.” 


248 


FORGETMENOT. 


44 A big word ! Did you say your throat 
was sore ?” he resumed on coming back before 
she realized he was gone. 44 However, you 
are hoarse. ’Tis growing cool out here for 
you. And soon too, I must take 4 to horse,’ ” 
he added, smiling, as he knelt to hand the 
water. 

44 Thank you,” she laughed, “but please 
don’t start those puns again. They are debil- 
itating, and I do not want to see you sick. 
But did you ever read the mightiest of all 
puns — that one of Henry Clay’s?” 

44 Never.” 

44 Then I will show you it some time. I 
have it not just now. Let me see, when will 
it be? Oh, I know. On the day you take 
me fishing. But maybe you’ve forgot?” 

44 Nay, never. I will take you; and for 
lunch, we’ll have the pun.” 

4 4 Agreed,” she answered. 4 4 But your pay. 
I told you I would pay you for the drink. 
Water is heavy you know, 62^ pounds to 
the cubic foot, so you worked hard. Do you 
want the pay? Two little gems from out 
this magic paper. Read them both,” she said, 
handing him the page. 44 Out loud,” she 
added. 


FORGETMENOT. 


2 49 

“ Cheerfulness is just as natural to the heart of 
the man in strong health as color in his cheeks; 
and whenever there is habitual gloom there must 
be either bad air, unwholesome food, improperly 
severe labor, or erring habits.” 

“There!” she exclaimed, “you must al- 
ways be of a 4 cheerful ’ and contrite spirit. 
So the scriptures say ; and you see the scrip- 
tures know. Now here’s the other,” point- 
ing again and reading as she spoke. “ This 
is for you especially .” 

“ Man’s character is an eiementof his wealth, and 
you cannot make him rich in what he has, except 
as you teach him to be rich in what he is.” 

“ Tack that in your mind, Kind-heart. I 
will you it to take away. Who is it, I wonder, 
that writes for us so many, and such treasures ? 
They seem to me like little drops of gold. 
I’ve given one to you. Now see — which one 
is meant for me ? I found yours, now you 
find mine?” 

“ Why this. This fits exactly,” quoth he, 
reading the words as he spoke. 

“ Beautiful is the activity which works for good, 
. and beautiful is the stillness that waits for good; 
blessed the self-sacrifice of the one, and blessed the 
self-forgetfulness of the, other.” 


250 


FORGETMENOT. 


“Now that is yours. Little Spirit; and it 
too bears upon our work. But really you are 
hoarse ?” 

“ Not to speak of ?” she objected. “ But if 
I talk much when I’m riding, then I do grow 
really hoarse.” 

“A pun?” he asked. 

“ No, truly. And now I’ve found a remedy 
that I want to try, the very next time I lose 
my voice. For you know it is dreadful not 
to be able to speak /” she added with a merry 
laugh. 

“What is the remedy so wonderful?” 

“Why it says, that horseradish will give 
instant relief. The root is better, but the 
leaves, when fresh, will do. And best of all, 
the root when green. Just chew it freely, 
and the effect is wonderful. So the writer 
says, and I am eager to try it. And another 
one I saw, which is also useful. You ought 
to know them both. It says, if the color is 
taken out of any goods by acid, use ammonia 
to neutralize. Then apply chloroform, and 
it will restore the color. We know of the 
ammonia ; but the writer says, the chloroform 
part, is little known. I’m going to try it 
some time. 


FORGETMENOT. 


2 5* 


“But, hark!” she cried, “listen to those 
sweet, sweet birds? O, that robin singing 
in the wood ! Pve heard it called an anvil’s 
ring, but ; Eolie, Eolie ’ — is the song he’ll 
ever sing. Have you read that poem ? Dr. 
Shoemaker’s version of the evening song? 
If not, you must. The description is just per- 
fect. I think I have it somewhere ; and will 
take that on the picnic also, if you say.” 

“Yes, that will be our serenade, in case 
we have no lemonade.” To which again 
there rose her bubbling mirth. 

“ But,” he said in rising, “I must really 
gang awa. Father, no doubt, is looking for 
me now. And I have yet three miles to ride. 
Poor man, I trust he’ll soon be well. Then 
will I tear myself away from these sweet 
rural scenes, and go to work — in earnest. 
How often wilt thou write to me when I am 
faraway? See, the sun is nearly down?” 
(stooping to carry her back). Still in- 
sist on walking? Then let me have your 
shawl and books — all the treasures rare.” 
Lightly he ran ahead, and returned in time to 
lift her up the steps and seat her in the little 
chair. “ There ! I place you now just where 


FORGETMENOT. 


252 

I found you. That is one of the first lessons 
I had to learn. To shut a door properly, 
and put things in their places. Dear little 
chair ; dear Little Girl ! ” folding the shawl 
about her as he spoke. 44 This fleecy thing of 
blue is perfect. It well becomes 4 the blue 
unclouded heaven of thine eyes.’ Now prom- 
ise me, to-morrow morn that you’ll begin and 
write? And before long, you will be ex- 
celling even Bulwer with his pen.” 

44 Oh, if I only could!” she sighed. 

44 1 tell you, Child, you can . And ere long, 
be writing so, that fair maidens, and strong 
men, will be drinking at your fount. This is 
my prophecy. And if it don’t hold true, I 
will give to some fine god or goddess, man or 
beast, all my vast and worldly goods. But 
I’ve no fear of losing,” he continued. 44 Nor, 
have I fear, that you will break your prom- 
ise. Forget not your little 4 gems,’ and 
good receipts — forget not anything. Already 
I see the beacon light afar. So au revoir. 
Day after to-morrow I will come. To- 
morrow I will give you, to work, and the 
next day I will come to give you the drive. 
And we can stay till after night-fall if you 


FORGETMENOT. 


253 


choose, for your friend the moon has risen, 
and will then be looking down to see what 
you are doing, and will cast her silvery light 
upon you. And, after that,” he added earn- 
estly with pride, 44 will I take your little book 
into my tender care. And you must have 
your picture in it.” 

4 4 Must I ? ” she asked submissively , 4 4 and get 
Mr. Erbach to take it, while I admire his curly 
hair?” * 

44 Certainly, yes, or your good Mrs. An- 
trim, or your wonderful friend, Mr. Brady.” 

Saying the last words while passing his hand 
over her waving hair, he stooped and kissed 
her upturned brow, as she placed a little blue- 
eyed flower on his coat. A moment more, 
and he was crossing the lawn and mounting 
his milk-white steed — and looking back to 
wave his hand, and softly call, 44 Good night, 
Sunshine — fare thee well, my Little Flower, 
Forget-me-not.” And as he rode, he stooped 
and pressed her blue-eyed gift against his lips, 
and turning threw a kiss, and waved his hat 
once more, and then was gone. 

The echo of the fleeting steed alone was 
heard. And while her gaze was following, 


254 


FORGETMENOT. 


and sound of ringing shoe was dying through 
the grove, again the voice cried pleadingly : 

4 4 What can I do ? And how ? 

Echo answers, 44 What — and how?” 

Take for thine emblem that same magic 
shoe, and it will bring thee luck Ay, better 
still, lift up thy voice, and chant thy motto 
of the day, and it will bring e’en more than 
superstitious gain. For words like these are 
sent to b^upremely sown. 

“Let us consider one another, that we provoke 
unto love, and to good works.” 

This, the gospel bids to all, from days of 
yore. And still the Savior speaks to-day, 
in tender voicing sweet, — 

44 My Child of Light, and Love — My Child 
of Faith ! go on. Take heart, and be of 
cheer — go on ! 

And, ere the set of coming sun, 

Before the new-born day is done, 

Wilt thou be writing for the Lord, 

To reap in time, thine own reward 1 ” 


Life is a weird and mystical dream — 

A vision of joy’s refrain; 

Life is a drama, whose pages are fraught 
With weeping, and mourning, and pain. 


FORGETMENOT 


2 55 


We turn the page o’er, and glean what is there 
Through tomes far too heavy to hold ; 

Many can find but a burden of care, 

Whilst others have leaflets of gold. 

O ye who have found the one that is fair, 

For His sake, pray comfort the rest? 

Far “ sweeter it is to give than receive ; ” 

And he who thus giveth is blest. 

And now would I leave on wall of thine heart 
A picture not yellowed with age ; 

But, likeness of “ Mother and Babe ” of to-day— 
Oh, tenderly true is the page ! 

Ay, tenderly true, and dripping with life — 

I’d leave in thy mind for a day — 

The Babe at the shrine there wailing for bread, 
The Mother, there kneeling to pray. 


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eroetmeaoL 


— OB- 


.^^uasKine in. si^ffliction. 


A STORY FROM LIFE. 


* * 


ALICE HALLOWELL. 


* * * 

FOR SALE IN WASHINGTON, D. C., BY 

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Words by 

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SONG OF WYOMING VALLEY 

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Words by 

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SAVONAROLA’S MISERERE, 

Translated from the Latin, 


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The Rev. FRED: C. COWPER, B. D. 

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Published by The Young Churchman Co., Milwaukee, Wis. 


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